Angel of Massacre
by Numbnut10
Summary: You humans have taken everything from me. I have nothing left to live for, so I will hunt each and everyone of you down. And then I will tear you all into as many pieces as I can manage. I am Samael, the angel of massacre. Full summery inside.
1. Mutant in the Mirror

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied, but I do own all of the original characters here. Elfen Lied belongs to Lynn Okamoto. It belongs to him at least until I buy the series from him…

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated **T** for intense dark themes and gruesome murders. Of course, this is Elfen Lied we're talking about, what else would you expect: a comedy?

**Author's Notes**: This is my first Elfen Lied fanfiction and my second fanfiction period. This plot is mine and mine alone. Please read and review at the end. I appreciate any constructive criticism and in fact welcome it.

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter One: Mutant in the Mirror_

It was darker than pitch black. The Darkness was a Pit deeper than anything conceivable by the human mind. In comparison, the Marianas Trench was no deeper than a flesh wound. In the Darkness, in the Pit, I was a god over nothing. I lay at the bottom, reveling in my boundless might. But then, I started to rise out of my Black Manor. God I was, I was completely helpless to stop my ascension into the Light. I screamed and thrashed, I did not want to leave my Godhood behind. I was nothing in the Light, not the slightest ant under the heel of the merest infant.

I gripped my fist around the Darkness, yet the Darkness left me to the whim of the Light. I tried to scream as I reached the source of my displeasure, but my voice had left me. At long last, I surfaced out of the Darkness and into the Light. I was a God cast out of his realm. A horribly loud mechanical klaxon sounded and I could no longer keep my eyes closed.

Then I awoke from my freaky-ass dream. The dream faded from memory as dreams usually do, yet a shadow of the nightmare remained in my mind. I felt as if my insides were tingling like something was growing inside me. I felt particularly weird this morning, to say the least. It's hard to explain how I feel in the mornings. It's like I have no sense of comprehension, my tired brain has yet to awake. So I just stare at a room and wait as my pink head organ starts to identify the various shapes and scenes that assault my eyes and ears. I was in my bedroom, I could tell that now. I was lying in a bed with a thick comforter sheet blanketing my frail morning body from the cold. And I was hearing the most annoying sound ever designed by human hands: my alarm clock.

_**BEEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEP**_

And so the mechanical klaxon went on like that. I had absolutely no desire to leave my warm fortress of comfort just to satisfy the stupid alarm clock. The retarded thing had _no right_ to wake me up on a Sunday morning. Yet the clock was as stubborn as I was and infinitely as annoying, not to mention it was bound to wake up the rest of my family. And so with a heavy heart, I reached up and slapped my hand down on the clock. Suddenly, the klaxon ended with a loud shrill cry.

"_Well, that is strange!"_ I thought to myself, _"I reached up and turned off my alarm, but I haven't left my bed! My clock is like three feet away from my head, if I remember right."_

I wasn't ready to face a mystery this early in the morning. It was Sunday, the day of rest for many folk. All I had to do was stay under my sheets and sleep the rest of the Monday morning away.

Monday morning… Son of a…

Today is Monday, not Sunday. Meaning I have a lot to look forward to this morning instead of a face-full of fluffy pillows. I have to face the second most insidious invention ever designed by human hands: public school. The first most being my clock, but that isn't important right now. The important thing is that I have to book my ass around the house and get ready to face the school bus driver and her luminescent yellow bus.

That sounds so much easier in my head than in execution. It feels as though my muscles have been filled with lead when I was asleep. Just the effort of turning my head is a chore. But if the bus can't wait for my muscles to wake up, then I certainly can't. I won't burden my parents by making them drive me to school, they both worked all last night. I just have to force my lead-filled limbs to move and go through my morning routine. Once again, that's much harder than it sounds.

My room is always unnaturally cold in the morning. Nobody can explain it except that my room is the farthest from the central heater in the basement. I have a much more logical explanation however. Jack Frost invades my room every morning and breaths his icy breath on the floor and walls. This is a joke of course, but I still curse Mr. Frost every morning.

I strained my arms to the limit and forcefully threw off my covers. Immediately the warm mini-atmosphere vanished and the freezing air swooped in and assaulted every fiber of my being. Damn Jack Frost! This clears my head, but unfortunately, I am not fully awake. I have one more step before I can consider myself awake.

I couldn't give myself more time to think, I just threw my legs over the side and planted them firmly on the wooden floor. My floor feels subzero to my warm toes. I felt a gasp escape my lips from the shocking cold; my mind awoke that much more. Now I am fully awake and ready to face the day. Not that I have any desire to face a Monday morning.

I tossed my gaze around my room. It's a small room with an unruly bed, a dresser stuffed full of clothes, a closet with a myriad of more outfits hanging up, and a frozen floor littered with yet more garments.

"I have way too many clothes." I decided aloud. My voice is startlingly loud. I sound just too noisy in the overpowering silence, so I quickly shut up and get to work. I take care to step on the clothes on the ground, protecting my feet from Jack Frost's work. I make my way to the dresser and pull out a warm sweatshirt and socks before slipping into them. Then I turn around look for my school backpack and leather wallet. My gaze landed on a full-length mirror propped against the wall. It was at such an angle that my reflection was decapitated at the neck. I suppose this is where I throw in some character development or something.

From the neck down, I look average. I am lean, borderline skinny, with a flat stomach and slim features. My shoulders are broad and my arms are wiry. They look even wirier when I wear this large sweatshirt. My elbows are boney and my fingers are slender. I am actually pretty athletic when I want to be, but that is limited to running and jumping. In a fight, I would be broken like a twig. I reach out with my slender fingers and adjust the mirror to expose my head. This is where the average gets broken down and the freak in the mirror comes out.

I have a pale, lean face with sharp features. My skin is completely clear of scars and unsightly marks. It would be a young, almost handsome, face if it wasn't for what's above the eyebrow. My hair is an unnatural crimson color, the color of blood. Anyone looking would think that I have had it dyed. But this explanation doesn't extend to my eyes, which shared the exact same shade of red. I guess people could say I am wearing contacts, but I'm not. According to my medical records, my eyes and hair is all natural.

But it's what lies above the hairline that attracts the most attention. On top of my head are two boney protrusions that look eerily like horns. The horns are short and poke straight up through my ruddy hair like antenna. While I don't dislike them, my horns have been an inconvenience for my entire childhood. In preschool, kids would make fun of me and pull painfully on the horns. My mom quickly took me out of that school and home schooled me until junior high.

Even to this day, I wear hazel contacts and a brunette wig. Speaking of which, I turn away from the mirror and pull my brown wig out of my dresser. Then I slap it on and pull out a glasses case which contains my contacts. I carefully place each one over my blood-red irises. I then blink a couple of times and turn to smile at the mirror.

A red-haired boy with horns stood in the reflection. His crimson eyes held so much black hatred that the room felt like it had dropped in temperature. His shaking hands were clenched in tight fists at his side. Yet despite the cold odium radiating from the boy, his lips were split in a cold grin filled with malice.

I stepped back instinctively; my mind is hardwired for flight rather than fight. My foot carelessly landed on a discarded shirt on the floor. Immediately, my foot slipped backwards and I stumbled toward the ground. I think I shouted at the top of my voice at this point. My hands shot out and slammed against the floor, sending pain up my arms. Ignoring my stinging palms, I twisted my head around trying to catch sight of the predator in the mirror.

Instead I saw a rather silly looking boy lying on the floor with wide hazel eyes and red hair poking out from beneath a disheveled wig. I rose to a sitting position and began blowing gently on my reddened palms. I could feel my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my ribcage. I sat in silence and breathed deeply in an attempt to calm my shot nerves.

"_It isn't even seven thirty and I already nearly had a heart attack. What a way to start a Monday morning!"_

Yet there was something else, a strange feeling in my intestines. It felt like the very organs in my body had come alive and were twisting and moving in my body. Like there are snakes in my entrails. I could never accurately describe it any other way. This was not a new feeling because I have experienced this long ago. I remember this feeling back in my blackened childhood. Back when my mother was a single mom struggling to raise a freak infant and break the hold that alcoholism had on her. Those were not good times for me because I feel I was the reason my family had fallen apart.

But that is a story of another time. Long story short: Mom gave birth to a freak baby. Mom feels bad and turns into an alcoholic. Dad leaves both Mom and me, but supports us from an arm's length. Mom tries to get better and Dad gets a twenty grand check from a mysterious benefactor. Dad reunites with Mom and we all live happily together. Except now we're expecting a new addition to our three-ring circus.

All of a sudden there was frantic knocking at my door. I cringed in guilt and opened the door. Tony Mordare stood in the doorway and rubbed his eyes sleepily. My father looks a lot like me, or is it the other way around? He is pretty lean and has a few muscles, but you aren't going to see him in a heavyweight wrestling match. I don't even know if he would make the lightweight matches. Perhaps there are paperweight matches. Of course this is a joke, my dad isn't anorexic or anything. He just has high metabolism which is something I inherited.

"You still alive?" yawned Dad. I nodded gingerly and opened my mouth to explain it away when Dad spoke again.

"Just give me two minutes of a beating and I'll ask again. It's seven in the morning, who else but Michael could cause so much noise! It's time for a beating, c'mere you!"

I laughed as my dad "pounded" me softly with closed fists. Then he swatted the back of my head sharply and gave me the hardest and sternest look. He held it for three seconds before dissolving into laughter right along with me.

"Go back to bed you crazy old man!" I chuckled. Dad glanced behind him and smiled affectionately.

"Ah, it's too late to go to bed now, my angel and a half has gotten up."

I couldn't help but smile as well when Dad stepped aside. Sarah Mordare stood hands on her hips, but a smile on her lips. My mother walked up to Dad and swept both of her arms over his shoulders. But one large obstacle prevented her from reaching all the way around. A very pregnant belly sat between them with all the adorable obnoxiousness of a newborn baby. My dad says that Mom is the most beautiful woman he has ever met. I suppose from a stranger's point of view, I would agree. Sarah Mordare is a trim woman with shoulder-length brown hair and bright hazel eyes. Her full lips were turned up right now, but I know from experience that they can change faster than you can blink. She has a warm glow around her that Dad says is a sign of a healthy baby.

I have seen her in a very different way. Back in my black childhood, Sarah was extremely gaunt with heavy dark circles under her eyes. Her skin was so pale that she looked almost transparent. All she had was skin and bones and grief. Now she has changed so much that I wouldn't be able to tell they were the same person if I had before and after pictures. I prefer this way so much more.

The baby is almost nine months old. Mom says if it's a girl then her name would be Theresa. But Dad says if it's a boy then his name would be Gabriel. Neither of them wants an ultrasound just to check and ruin the surprise. I don't believe this explanation. I think that Mom just doesn't want to know if her next child will have the same freak mutation that I do. Honestly, I don't really want another mutated kid running around. I want my mom to have an honest-to-goodness normal kid and a happier time raising it than she did with me. If by chance my sibling did have horns, I would protect it from a blackened childhood. He/she/it was not going to go through what I had to go through, not on my watch!

I slipped past my mom and dad. I flung myself down the stairs, two steps at a time. I landed on the first floor and ran around the stairs and into the kitchen. From here, my morning ritual begins. My morning breakfast usually is a frantic endeavor, but I managed to wake up earlier this morning. This morning I made myself eggs and slightly burnt toast. I continued my morning ritual by applying life-saving armpit deodorant, forgetting to brush my teeth, and then grabbing my two-ton book bag. Finally, I flung open the doors to the bitter cold outside and ran toward the bus stop.

I watched my breath form tiny clouds in the frigid atmosphere. I craned my neck out into the street and stood sentry for the forever-late school bus. Yet I didn't feel discouraged at all. There was something about today that made me feel good inside. This day was going to be one of the most memorable days of my life, I could just feel it.

If only I had known that this was the day my life ended.

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End Chapter One: Mutant in the Mirror

And so it begins, my long awaited fanfiction is finally escaping my mind and onto the Internet. The hardest part of writing this is the beginning. I would expect a lot of reviews, but I have never had high expectations and why should I start now. And now to kick off the trivia questions!

P.S. A reward to whoever names the composer of the song _Elfenlied_.


	2. Decent into Hell

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Elfen Lied_, that privilege belongs solely to Lynn Okamoto. However, I do own Michael Mordare and all of the other original characters introduced here.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated **T** for intense dark themes and gruesome murders. I suspect that a lot of you are already desensitized to this, so no problems here.

**Author's Notes**: I'm kicking this New Year off with a new chapter for my story! I've been holding this one back for so long, I've actually got the third chapter almost done. Expect that one to come out on January 5th, 2009. The previous chapter was designed to expose the foundations on which Michael Mordare's reality has been set on. This chapter is the sledgehammer that will break down his foundations. This is not going to be pretty, this is not going to be nice. This chapter, and the entire story for that matter, is not for the weak of stomach. You have been warned.

**Author's Notes **(**Con.**): The continued part of the Author's Notes is where I reply to reviews. Let's see what we got in this empty sack filled to the brim with reviews. Oh look, it's an empty sack _not_ filled with reviews. It's just an empty sack with a sign that says, "Reviews go here."

I'm not bitter. Let's get the nitty-gritty started.

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter two: Decent into Hell _

I ran up the stone steps leading back into my house. I slowed to a halt in front of the front door and lifted my pale hand up to the door handle, then stopped. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter weather or the frozen wind clawing at my reddened cheeks. The warm feeling of euphoria that had accompanied me through the morning had mysteriously been replaced by a dark despairing foreboding. I realized that I had stop breathing and forced myself to exhale.

"_Nothing horrible has happened, but I can't deny that something _has_ happened and still is happening!"_

_**Y**__o__**u**__** w**__an__**na **__ki__**ll?**_

I did not know why I was feeling so anxious. I couldn't stand out here in the cold otherwise I'd look really stupid. I grasped the door handle and closed my eyes before I entered my house. As I opened my eyes; I saw everything was _**co**__ve__**r**__ed__** bl**__oo__**d**__ i__**t**__ wa__**s e**__v__**ery**__wh__**er**__e. __**Th**__e ce__**il**__in__**g**__ t_**_h_**_**e cei**__li__**n**__g __**w**__a__**s**__…_

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. No blood draped across the walls and there were no bodies hanging from the ceiling. I felt a shudder run through my spine and found that I had been holding my breath again. Exhale and inhale, exhale and inhale because that's the way to live.

"Honey, is that you?" a voice called out from inside the house. Mom came into view as she walked away from the kitchen area. She was wearing a simple sweatshirt and sweatpants combination. The elastic waistband was stretched tight over her pregnant belly. I only stood in the open doorway and gave her a blank stare. She put her hands on her hips and frowned deeply. "Why are you standing in the door? You're letting out all of the heat!"

With an enormous effort, I picked up my feet and completed my entry into my home. Then I threw the front door closed, it swung into place with a satisfying _click_. I stood in the front hall with a blank stare fixated on my face. Mother looked at me with a mixture of concern and irritation. "What has gotten into you? Are you feeling alright?"

Was I feeling alright? I couldn't tell anymore, I felt so confused and anxious. I kept on shifting my weight from my left foot to my right foot and back. So many uncalled for emotions churning in my head! I finally answered, "I…I don't know, I'm going upstairs."

"Do you need anything from me?" questioned Mom. I shook my head and ran to the stairs. At the last second I turned to look back at Mom. Her loving face _w__**a**__s __**tor**__n __**apar**__t, bl__**ood **__spla__**tter**__s __**coa**__te__**d **__**t**__ha__**t **__l__**it**__h__**e ca**__dav__**er **__a__**nd **__h__**er**__ st__**om**__a__**ch **__w**as**__ r__**ende**__r__**ed**__ in __**tw**__o._

_A ti__**ny sm**__oot__**h ha**__n__**d **__hu__**n**__g __**lif**__e__**l**__e__**ss f**__ro__**m th**__e o__**pe**__n wo__**mb**__._

I sucked in my lower lip and bit down to suppress a scream. Mother smiled reassuringly with a perfectly normal, perfectly intact face. Without a backwards glance I tore my path up the stairs as fast as I could. As though I could escape these apparitions if I ran fast enough. _What was happening to me!_ Was my mind descending into a hell of my own making? I didn't go into my bedroom. Instead I found the entrance into the attic. There was a square opening in the ceiling covered with a wooden lath. The only way to open it was to push up. The flap falls down and releases the ladder leading up into the attic. The attic was the place that I call sanctuary. I haven't used it since the cold weather rolled in, but desperation drove me to the safety of the loft.

There I was, standing under the wooden entry when I realized I forgot the stepladder. I wasn't tall enough to reach the ceiling. I didn't want to go downstairs. I couldn't face the gruesome visions anymore! Just when my anxiety peaked, the sound of wood sliding on wood brought my attention to the ceiling. Before my very eyes the attic door popped open and swung down. A second later a rickety ladder chased the door down and struck the floor with a loud _clunk_. What was that nearly transparent shimmer in the air? I squinted at the air and the shimmer vanished like a mirage.

Was I even surprised anymore? The entire morning had been packed with these unbelievable instances. A bitter chill crept down from the attic and sucked the warmth out of the air. Was it safe up in my sanctuary? Or would I be alone in the cold, assaulted with gory haunts?

And so with my heart pounding in my malformed skull, I ventured into the arctic attic. It felt as though I were being doused in ice water. The outside cold seeped into the attic and assailed my feeble body like fire. Yet despite this, the cold was helping me somewhat. My mind no longer felt so full of emotions. The intense pressure was gone and I could finally think freely. I threw my gaze around the cramped loft. The attic was small and uncomfortable, but there were signs of its previous living conditions. There was a mattress on the floor with an afghan for a blanket. Mom was always worried that I would get heatstroke in the summer, when the internal temperature in the attic was the exact opposite of what it is now.

I strode over to the mattress picked up the afghan before throwing it over my shoulders. It did little to keep out the cold but I didn't want to be warm. When I was cold the world was clearer. I sat down in silence for a while, not daring to make a sound lest I alert the visions. I don't know how long I waited with my eyes squeezed shut, silently shivering in an inadequate blanket. I guess it was a childish reaction to anything frightening: hide under the blanket and hope the boogeyman doesn't notice the shaking blanket.

I could almost hear the _**b**__l__**o**__o__**d**__ r__**un**__n__**in**__g __**dow**__n __**t**__h__**e wa**__ll__**s an**__d p__**ooli**__n__**g **__a__**t my**__ s__**ho**__e__**s an**__d __**stai**__n__**in**__g t__**hem i**__n r__**ub**__y __**m**__ur__**der**__._ My eyes snapped open and I looked down before I could stop myself. There was no blood and no stained shoes. I doubled over and tucked my head between my knees. As I did this my chestnut wig fell off my cranium and exposed my twin horns. I tried breathing exercises to calm myself down. Exhale and inhale, exhale and inhale because that's the way to survive.

Think, _think!_

When did it start? When did this happen most? The first question was easier than the second. This first happened in the morning when I saw the boy in the mirror. Thoughts began swimming in my head and time seemed to become immaterial. Oddly enough, the entire time I saw no hallucinations.

I could trace these all the way back at the beginning of the school day. I remember entering the classroom and glimpsed the entire class plus the teacher beheaded. This vision disappeared so fast I almost didn't catch it. Another instance occurred during gym period. Since it was cold outside, we exercised in the gym. I remember during an unfair game of dodgeball (my team sucked) a jock tried to throw a missile of a shot straight at me. I had tried to catch it but the ball was going to bounce off my fingers (possibly knocking them clean off). Then the ball stopped just in front of me and I grabbed it out of instinct. It apparently looked as though I had caught it because the jock was called out. But I knew that the ball had just stopped in midair, as though it had been caught by an unseen force.

Another, more extreme instance happened right after the last case. The previously mentioned jock was embarrassed and angry by my display of miraculous, yet bogus, athletic prowess. He cornered me in the locker room and was going to knock me around. Then for some reason he doubled over as though he were struck by a sledgehammer. He literally puked and I could swear I saw blood in the vomit. Then I saw a strange shimmer in the air. This was the first physical violent example.

I was getting a bit concerned at that time. The bizarre occurrences were escalating into more disturbing visions and at least one other brutal takedown. This time I was standing in front of the classroom and giving a moderately decent presentation, something about child mutations (this was a specialty of mine). I was getting annoyed at an apathetic girl in the front row who kept on snapping her gum every time I started talking. I was sure she was doing it on purpose because she kept on smiling whenever I halted in my speech. At the peak of my irritation the girl suddenly fell backwards in her chair. Her skull hit the floor so hard that her skin broke and she began bleeding. Oddly enough, the blood was coming from a wound that looked like it had been inflicted by a very sharp knife, not what you'd expect for a simple fall.

But what did this all mean?! I don't think I imagined the jock and the girl getting hurt. And this only seemed to happen to me. I didn't know what was going on and I was so cowed by these visions that I was actually considering becoming a hermit in my own home. How long would it be until these instances turned into something worse? What is someone died tomorrow? That girl already had to be rushed to the hospital. I don't know if the jock had any other problems, I didn't see him for the rest of the day. Another thing to note was that I could see a tell-tale shimmer in the air whenever someone got hurt. Nobody else seemed to notice it, but then again they were probably more interested in the victims rather than who did it.

I was about ready to scream in frustration when the sound of the attic door opening snapped me out of my trance. I sat up in the mattress and saw my mom's head pop up into the loft. From this angle she looked like a guillotine victim. My mom gasped when she saw me. I guess I looked like a sight; I was all wrapped up in a white blanket in a darkly lit room. I probably looked like a ghost.

"Well there you are!" Mom admonished. There was definite steel in her voice and I felt a bit apprehensive at her tone. "What are you doing hiding up here in this frigid attic? You'll catch your death of cold!" she continued. _**He**__r __**t**__h__**roa**__t h__**u**__n__**g op**__e__**n**_… I quickly turned away. Finally she said, "And what in God's name did you do to your alarm clock? That was a perfectly good alarm and you went and smashed it apart!"

This got my attention. I stared at a space just above her head. "What do you mean?" I asked cautiously. My thoughts flew back into my first waking thoughts this morning. But the memories were so weak and faded. I was never a morning person.

Mother tried to catch my gaze but failed and then said, "Oh don't play innocent with me. That alarm clock is coming straight out of your allowance! Get down here and clean up the mess!"

Then her head disappeared down the hole and I heard her stomping down the stairs. _"She didn't even close the attic door!"_ I thought miserably. I stood up and reached for the attic stairs, then thought the better of it. I quickly slid down the stairs and ran into my room. As soon as I looked in through the doorway I discovered the source of Mom's distress. The dresser on which my alarm clock _used_ to sit on was a complete mess. Broken glass and shattered circuits were strewn across the usually immaculate dresser top. In the epicenter of this technological massacre were the remains of the first most insidious device designed by human hands: my alarm clock.

I strode over to take a closer look, yet still mindful of the broken glass. What I saw topped the entire day up until that point. There was a shape _smashed_ into the plastic casing, it was the shape of a human hand. The hand was so perfectly shaped that I knew that this couldn't be just a trick of the light. I lifted up my own hand and gingerly placed into the eerily shaped hole, sliding the fingers into their appropriate positions.

The imprint was bigger than my hand.

My head felt light and I stepped backwards. This was way too strange! I didn't clearly remember everything that happened in the morning, but this was just impossible! Unless some seven foot giant (judging from the size of the hand print) snuck through my window with the sole purpose of destroying this device, then this was impossible. For fuck's sake, what could this all mean!

Four minutes later the mess was all brushed into a plastic bag and dumped into the kitchen trash. While I was in my room I took off my hazel contacts and put them in a soft container. I found myself lying on the mattress in my refrigerated attic and staring up at the ceiling. I glared up as though daring the surface above me to start oozing blood. I just laid there with a head of red hair swept around my misshapen skull like a scarlet halo. A sudden thought occurred to me: was there a freak inside a freak waiting to be free? I brushed that thought away and continued searching, but what I was searching for was a mystery even to me.

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My blood red eyes snapped open. A fuzzy feeling washed over my entire body and for a second I had forgotten all about where I was and what I was doing. Then everything snapped into focus again and I remembered everything. I must have dozed off. I know I'm a heavy sleeper, that's why I need a really loud alarm clock. I wondered what could it have been that had awakened me. Then I heard something that stopped my heart cold.

A woman weeping echoed from downstairs.

I was awake immediately and I had stepped off of the mattress. I slowly put my ear to the attic floor and listened intently. More noises crept into my ear and I could hear more voices. I had never heard these angry voices before.

"Where is he? Tell me where the diclonius is or I'll shoot the other leg!"

My entire body froze up in horror. I could hear my heart pounding traitorously loud. _"What- someone shot someone? What's happening downstairs! IS MOM ALRIGHT!"_ my inner voice screamed. All of the sudden I realized what must be happening. Mom is watching a violent movie! That's what must be happening. I had never heard the word diclonius before. Relief swept into my heart and I pulled the attic door away. The voices became more clear now.

"I've already told you! Michael is vacationing with a friend in DC!" a woman's voice cried. My entire body froze up again and the warm relief flushed straight out of my body. It was immediately replaced with liquid nitrogen in my bloodstream. That was most definitely Sarah Mordare's voice.

"_Mother…"_

Then I heard another sound. It was the sound of a man groaning with so much pain that I almost didn't recognize it.

"Tony, please don't move! Don't move or you'll bleed more!" Sarah choked. I could hardly believe my ears. What was happening! Was Dad the one that was shot? To my horror, the rickety ladder leading down from the attic began to slide down toward the hardwood floor.

"WRONG ANSWER!" bellowed a high, sadistic voice. The sound of the ladder striking the floor was drowned out by a horribly loud cracking sound. My mom and dad absolutely screeched in agony and I nearly fell through the hole.

"_That was a gunshot! Oh my god they shot Dad!"_ I bawled in my head. Horrible misery tore at my stomach like a nest of angry snakes. Hot tears began to run down my cheeks and I tried desperately to stifle sobs. I was torn between jumping out a window and limping to help or lying on the floor and crying. The second choice was making itself a probability when a fiery anger ignited in my stomach. A strange, yet familiar voice spoke as though just beside my ear.

"_**Th**__es__**e in**__t__**r**__ud__**ers a**__re __**k**__i__**ll**__in__**g y**__o__**u**__r f__**ami**__l__**y a**__n__**d yo**__u __**are**__n'__**t g**__o__**in**__g __**to**__** hel**__p __**t**__h__**em**__?"_

I felt a sudden hatred swell up inside me. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. I was so furious at _everything_ and especially the man who was shooting at my goddamn family! Blood pounded in my ears so loudly that I almost missed the voice speaking again. But this was a different voice. It was deeper and there was unmistakable anxiety in the second man's voice.

"We've searched the entire house and the diclonius wasn't found. Perhaps she is telling the truth?"

The high voice spoke like a serpent's strike, "You fucking retard! The school records said that he had attended this morning! There's no way he would be in Wash-fucking-ton DC!"

I slipped down the ladder as quietly as I could. I knew the fourth rung squeaked loudly so I stretched my left foot past it and onto the third rung. My heart was pounding so hard I could hardly believe the men downstairs didn't hear it. I was seeing red and feeling cold black at the same time. Then I craned my neck around the stair corner to see if I could spot anything. I couldn't see anything, not even a sign of a forced entry or struggle. So I slowly began my decent into Hell, stopping every step and half-expecting a thug to run around the corner and shoot me dead.

Throughout the whole ordeal my mother never stopped howling in anguish. Just keep doing that Mom; they'll never hear me over your ugly racket! I stopped in my tracks. Where did _that_ thought come from? My entire family was being held at gunpoint and you are bitching at your mother's grief?!

Instantly the fiery anger was extinguished and all I felt was cold fear. What was I _thinking!_ I was halfway down the stairs and I wasn't even wielding a weapon of any sort! I wasn't even wearing my disguise! Oh my god, I was going to get myself killed! But what was I going to do?

I could tell from Mom's sobbing that they were in the living room just beside the stairs. I couldn't turn back, not without knowing what was happening! Not without seeing what had already happened! And so I sucked in a breath and skulked down a bit further until I could see in the room.

I breathed out as though I had been punched.

I saw Tony Mordare and Sarah Mordare. Dad was lying on the ground with his head in Mom's lap. His erudite face was ashen and his scholarly features were tight with pain. Both of his jean pants were stained a dark red. He was bleeding profusely from bullet wounds in his thighs. The blood had also soiled the brown carpet beneath my parents. Mom had her head bowed down and was gently brushing Dad's chestnut hair. There was blood on her fingers but she didn't seem to care about that. All I could see was her shoulders quaking as though she were being shaken by a giant.

I also saw two men standing over them like statues, their backs turned to me. One of the men was lean and the other one was large. They were both wearing black leather trench coats. The skinnier one had a bald head with an obsidian skull tattooed on the back of his cranium. I noticed the tattooed skull had two horns on it. He held a Desert Eagle Mark XIX pistol in his right hand. He was waving it around and quarrelling with his partner. His partner had a full head of charcoal colored hair. I could only see the side of his face (thankfully) but I could tell that he had a chiseled chin. He stood a good head taller than his gun-wielding partner, but I got the sick feeling that the crazier looking one was running the whole show. Speaking of which, he was the one who was talking.

"We were told to get the diclonius and we're getting that son of a bitch! Shut the fuck up you **whore**!"

My mom had started crying louder. She knew that the bad guys were looking for something called a diclonius. Could that be… me? I was taking very shallow breaths and my head was feeling very light.

The large thug spoke softly, "We searched the entire house and we didn't find him. We should get out of here! The neighbors may have heard your gunshots!"

Mr. Crazy just sneered at his mountainous partner, who seemed to shrink under the sadist's glare. His mouth split open with a leering grin and when he spoke it sounded like a snake talking.

"You fucking newbie! Nobody ever calls the police in these bad of neighborhoods!" his voice got higher with excitement, "Anyways, you wouldn't happen to have forgotten our second objective. We were told to prevent the virus from "reproducing" at any means possible."

He gestured toward Sarah's pregnant belly with the gun. My stomach tightened with a miserable mixture of fear and hate and helplessness. Then the sadist son of a bitch kept on hissing with his goddamn mouth.

"Looks like there's been some unwarranted "reproducing" going on here. Wouldn't you say so?"

Mr. Mountain didn't look too disturbed. I knew what was going to happen and _I couldn't stop it_. And so when the fiendish monster leveled the gun, I could only watch. Burning tears ran down my cheeks so thickly and I wasn't even bothering to stifle my hicks and sobs. I believe that the two villains were so engrossed in what they were about to do that they didn't even hear me. Father turned his head and his hazel eyes locked with my red orbs for the last time.

The man holding the pistol squeezed the trigger. The sliding rack snapped back and a single round splattered my loving father's brains all over my mother's person. The floor beneath my feet opened up like a pit and the Darkness swallowed my mind and soul. All I could hear was a strange, yet familiar voice laughing in the Darkness of my core.

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End Chapter two: Decent into Hell

This was the chapter that was just so eager to escape my twisted head. This was the one that opens the gateway to a dark part of my mind that I didn't even know existed. This is the chapter that "introduces" the diclonius mind that resides inside Michael's psyche.

This chapter is the one that I have written and rewritten so often in my mind that I can call this perfect. I will probably take back my opinion once my excitement over this reclines a bit, but I don't care right now. I hereby declare this horror story officially started.

No trivia for this chapter.


	3. Bloody Horns

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied, but I do own all of the original characters here. Elfen Lied belongs to Lynn Okamoto. It belongs to him at least until I buy the series from him…

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated **T** for real bad language, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: This is the chapter that marks the beginning of Samael. Read on if you can stomach it, things are _not_ going to get better.

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter three: Bloody Horns_

It was darker than pitch black. I sat in an enormous, cavernous theatre. There were only two seats, side by side, and at first I thought I was alone. Then I realize that there was someone beside me. I turned my neck to set my gaze on it. There, sitting casually with his legs crossed, was a young boy. How I knew it was a boy eluded me for he was wrapped in white bandages. Sallow skin the color of ashes was exposed in thin stripes between the dressings. His entire head was bound in the same bandages. Despite this I could see two horns poking through the dressing. The stripes were torn apart in front of his left eye and a single eyeball sat in the socket. The iris was dyed midnight blue.

The boy's own gaze was fixated at the gigantic screen. I didn't want to look at it. Then without warning the mummified boy turned his neck to look back at me. His eye locked with mine.

"_**Don**__'t l__**oo**__k a__**t m**__e. __**Ob**__se__**r**__v__**e**__** t**__h__**e s**__c__**en**__e b__**efo**__r__**e yo**__u. __**Wa**__tch __**y**__o__**ur li**__fe'__**s**__ e__**nd**__.__**"**_

With a great effort I turned to look at the theatre screen. I was watching a horrible movie about the death of a young man's entire family. I saw that he was standing on a flight of stairs and watching as a bald man shoots his father dead. I noticed that the teenager had horns growing out of his head. My heart went out to him. I can't imagine what it would be like to go through what he was going through.

"_It's just a movie, don't get so emotional. You aren't a girl after all."_ I admonished myself. The acting was good, that was for sure. The woman (probably the boy's mother) was completely silent. All of the color in her face had drained away. She was obviously in a state of shock. Her poor mind couldn't wrap around the image her eyes were sending her. _"Huh, that woman looks awfully familiar…"_

The boy beside me began to laugh. It began low and escalated into a higher chuckling. A heavy weight settled in my stomach. I suppose I knew what was going on, but I didn't want to accept it. The laughter grew louder and more excited. The truth was too painful to admit, so I just watched the screen with forced ignorance. Ignorance was easier than acceptance, it was less painful. By now the boy was rocking back and forth in his chair, seemingly unable to breathe in. I hoped to God that he would suffocate.

Then he was silent in an instant. His eye bore into mine with such intensity. A sharp chill ran up my spine. I shifted in my chair, trying to get comfortable in the theater seat. I couldn't look at the screen anymore. I didn't want to because the more I watched the harder it was to be ignorant. Cold fingers clasped my jaw in a steel grip, and forced me to face the screen. Tears threatened to leak out of my eyes and I had no choice but to observe.

In the screen the scene continued to unfold. The horned young man was still watching as the two villains stood over his mother. It was so odd because the horned guy wasn't making a sound. He was just staring at his father's corpse. The bald fiend was grinning from ear to ear and leveled the gun at the woman. His lips were moving but the cavernous theatre remained completely silent. I knew what was going to happen, there was no mistaking it. An aching pain throbbed in my heart. I hadn't even realized that the boy beside me had let go of my chin. Then he leaned in and his whisper slithered in my ear like a venomous serpent.

"_**Th**__a__**t'**__s e__**no**__u__**g**__h__ wa__**tch**__i__**n**__g.__**"**_

--------

My eyes regained focus and I saw my father's glassy eyes staring at a point above my head. Those eyes that I have appreciated for my entire life would never move again. Blood ran down in rivers from a quarter-sized hole in his forehead. I expected pain in my heart, but for some reason it wouldn't come. I could feel the pain, but it was muted as though at a distance. The pain would come soon enough, when I was at my weakest. All I felt was a yawning hole in my heart and a dull throbbing pain set itself in my chest where my heart used to beat.

Slowly I tore my gaze away from my father's face and looked at my mother. She had thrown her body over her lover's corpse and hysterical sobs were wracking her slender body. Her face was buried in my father's chest. I wanted to comfort her, but my feet didn't move. I wanted to hold her, but my arms remained slack at my sides. I felt like a lifeless puppet with its strings cut.

Then my stare shifted to the criminals. The bald and tall bastards were still facing away from me. Despite the distance between us, I felt like the shaved fucker was standing just in front of me. His demented aura filled the room.

"_He is enjoying this. He revels in the feeling of superiority and he's trying to drag it out as long as possible."_ I though bitterly. Odium swelled up within me like a tidal wave crashing against a cliff. I wanted him dead in more ways than I can count. My intestines withered in my stomach like a nest of furious serpents. My fingers curled into fists so tight my knuckles turned white. My unkempt nails dug deeply into my palms, but I didn't notice the pain.

Then the trigger-happy thug lifted the gun again and took aim at Sarah Mordare. The throbbing agony in my chest increased in tempo. Mom lifted her tear-stricken face and stared down the barrel of the gun. Perhaps she saw a cure for her pain. Perhaps she saw a chance of escape from her torture.

Sarah Mordare was smiling when the second bullet pierced her forehead.

The yawning hole in my chest doubled in depth the second her soulless body landed on the floor. My mouth hung open slightly in a desperate attempt to scream. No cry would come. No relief to the torment. All I could do was watch through dry eyes as the soulless gunman pulled the trigger twice more. This time the bullets struck Mom's stomach. The swell of her pregnant belly shuddered with each round. I heard out of control screaming as though from a great distance. Then I heard a silky voice as though it was right outside my ear.

"_**Yo**__u__**r lif**__e __**h**__as e__**nd**__e__**d**__. __**N**__o__**w y**__o__**u hav**__e n__**o**__t__**hi**__n__**g**__ l__**ef**__t of __**y**__o__**ur**__ p__**rev**__io__**u**__s l__**if**__e. __**If**__ y__**o**__u __**do**__n'__**t**__ d__**o som**__e__**t**__hi__**n**__g __**now**__, yo__**u**__r n__**ew**__** li**__fe __**w**__i__**ll**__ b__**e**__** ex**__tin__**guis**__h__**e**__d b__**efo**__r__**e it**__ e__**ven**__ s__**tar**__t__**ed**__. __**Ju**__s__**t**__ l__**i**__k__**e **__**t**__h__**a**__t __**ba**__b__**e**__** in**__ t__**h**__e w__**omb**__.__**"**_

The mad screaming came into focus and I found it was my own. I didn't care, _**I was going to slaughter them!**_ The two hitmen whirled around simultaneously and I swear the bald bastard looked like he was going to shit himself. His hands fumbled with another magazine as he frantically tried to reload the gun. Finally he slid the clip into the handle and pulled back the rack, depositing a bullet in the chamber. He lifted his thrice used murder weapon and took aim at my head. That's when all Hell broke loose. I saw the shimmering air appear all around me in such great numbers that the world looked like it was underwater. Then they became opaque and solidified.

Over ten _things_ appeared around me. They looked like glass snakes, clear, translucent, yet solid. But instead of a serpentine head at the end of each slender body, there was a human hand. These hands looked almost harmless, but I could feel the immense power in each fist. Five of them reached around me and covered me in a tight bear hug. I heard the gun firing frantically and eight .44 bullets appeared in the air in front of my face. They were so close I could have kissed their heated shells. Then I discovered that I had control over these "hands". I could move them as easily as I could my own flesh and blood arms. If they could stop a bullet at this close of range, then they must be very strong. They must be strong enough to render flesh from bone.

Time for a field test.

Five of the arms remained curled around my body. Then the remaining six shot forth from behind me and attacked the bald bastard. One hand took hold of his Desert Eagle and ripped it from his grasp. A finger remained in the trigger. His painful screams were bittersweet to my ears. Two hands grabbed his arms, hoisted the man like a ragdoll, and flung him into the wall behind him with a sickening crunch. The gun wielding hand cocked back and flung the silver pistol onto the floor. The pistol cracked in several pieces and scattered across the floor. Then that hand raced forward, grasped the disarmed thug's neck, and pinned him to the wall. He began to choke noisily, his face turned red.

My intense satisfaction was temporarily dulled as the mountainous gunman turned tail and ran. I couldn't let anyone escape, not from _me!_ Two arms chased after the man before he could take three steps. The hands wrapped around his ankles and pulled them from beneath him. His face landed on the floor and I heard teeth crack. I began to reel him in slowly, a rush of superiority nearly overwhelmed me as I watched him claw at the floor with his fingernails. Finally I took another hand and grabbed his charcoal hair. I lifted him into the air with the three hands and held him against the ceiling. I saw his hand scramble for his thigh and I realized that he was reaching for his gun. He had a Desert Eagle free from its holster before I took his gun hand and pulled it from the wrist. The gun plus his right hand landed with a pleasing smack.

The arms that were protecting me unfurled from my body and struck the helpless murderers. I strode down the remaining stairs and stood directly underneath the big guy. I turned to the bald guy, who was turning blue at this point. Oh he wasn't going to escape me that way! I released the choking grip and drove a hand into his gut. He doubled over and I saw blood dripping from his lips. These arms _are_ powerful! With five hands holding up the large hitman I had six more reserved for this motherfucker. Four of them swung out and grabbed his arms and legs. I held him in an eagle spread position against the wall.

I felt satisfied that the two men were as helpless as kittens in a sack. Then I turned to face the sadist and opened my mouth.

"Why did you do this?" I screamed in his face. He looked like he was going to faint and his right hand was bleeding profusely. "Why did you kill my family?! What drove you to slaughter everyone I knew and loved! TELL ME NOW!"

His face was drained of all blood and I saw his white lips move slowly. Too slow for me. I took my flesh and blood hand and grabbed his chin firmly. I brought my face up to his and glared at him with my blood stained eyes. His head dropped limply. The smell of piss wafted into my nose and I was immediately disgusted. I stepped back and swung a kick straight up between his legs. I felt the soft organs crushing under my foot. The bald man's head snapped up and he tried to scream toward the ceiling. Before he could cry out a "hand" lashed out and struck his chin. His head cracked against the wall and he fell completely limp. What a useless motherfucker!

I wasn't going to get anymore information out of him. I took two ethereal hands and grasped his neck and head. I began to twist his neck clockwise and his head the opposite way. First his spinal column snapped audibly. Then his neck began to tear and blood ran down the hand's fingers. Finally, with a great heave, I tore his shaved head clear off of his shoulders. Blood spout out of his open neckline and splattered across the ceiling. Blood rained down and I felt the warm droplets against my clothes and skin. I lifted my hands with the palms up as if accepting a gracious gift. That wasn't nearly satisfying enough for me.

So I turned to the bigger of the two thugs, who was still on the ceiling. I felt that I could take my sweet time with this guy. He was retching and vomit splashed onto the floor. I took two ghostly hands and pushed his mouth closed. It didn't help as puke and blood leaked out from a sizable gap between his teeth. I was irritated now, I wanted answers right away! So I pulled a "hand" back and drove it straight into his stomach. The large man heaved up all of the contents of his stomach in one great discharge. I decided to wait patiently a second longer for him to catch his breath.

A half-second later I lost patience. I let go of the man and he fell onto the floor with a great smash. He staggered to his feet and began squeezing the stump of his right hand. Oddly enough, a calm look had passed across his face. He knew he was going to die and that there was no escaping it. This was a guy that was willing to spill his guts, no pun intended.

I spoke again in the same harsh voice, "Why did you kill my family? Are you acting alone or on someone's orders! Tell me now and I won't drag out your death!"

The doomed thug opened his mouth and I saw what a mess his maw had become. I didn't care or feel sorry; I wanted to punch more teeth in. He spoke in a raspy voice, "I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to kill you or your family! You've got to believe me!"

I reached back and drove a solid punch against his face. He staggered backwards, but before he could fall I grabbed him again and held him up. I brought my face as close as I could but the stench of vomit was still on his breath. Then I snarled, "Oh you didn't want to kill anyone huh? Does that make my family any less DEAD?! Answer me or you'll lose your other hand!"

"No! I'm sorry it doesn't make them any less dead! I'm sorry! You've gotta belie-"

His left hand landed on the ground with a pulpy smack.

"You aren't nearly sorry enough to say you're sorry! Stop crying and tell me something useful!" I roared in his tear-stricken face. Then I spit in his face and shoved him onto the floor. He flopped on the ground in agony. He wasn't able to get up without his hands. With an irritated growl I grabbed his broad shoulders and pulled him shakily onto his feet.

"I'm sorr- (I growled). I'll tell you what you want to know if you'll let me-" With an enraged scream I grabbed his head and began to twist it. His shrieks got so high that my ears began to hurt.

"_You think you can bargain with me!"_ I shouted in his ear.

Before I could turn his head all the way around, he cried out again, "My boss! His name! I can tell you his name!" I stopped twisting his neck and listened intently. A name would help speed things up a lot. I would be able to hunt this guy with greater ease. The large man opened his mouth and spoke, "My boss's name is Noah-"

All of the world suddenly dissolved in flames.

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End Chapter Three: Bloody Horns

This is the end of the chapter. I hope you all enjoy it because it was fun to write. Michael's humanity has died with his human side. Even though he now has control over his vectors he still isn't out of the frying pan yet. The day still holds horrors in store for our young diclonius. Stay tuned in for more Angel of Massacre.

Something to note: the boy in bandages, the one that dwells in Michael's mind, he is not the same as the bandaged person in Lucy's head. This diclonius mind has a different personality. He's still sadistic and malevolent. But he isn't as impersonal and cold. He is more ambitious and abusive as well as casual. Unlike Lucy's diclonius personality, he wants to get in the action. He isn't going to appear when Michael's powers awaken and then disappear for a long time. He will make many more appearances as he tries to micromanage Michael's life through pain and abuse. His bizarre speech is supposed to replace the fact that Fanfiction won't allow any other font besides Calibri. I wanted his dialogue to be in Modern, but I can't do that. So I decided to make his speech alternating **bold** and _italic_.

PS. A reward for the first one to tell me Lucy's real name.


	4. Worthless Flight

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied, but I do own all of the original characters here. Elfen Lied belongs to Lynn Okamoto. God bless him for making such a fantastic series.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated **T** for bad language, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: Blood has been spilt, but the day is young. What more can possibly happen to our anguished diclonius? What else can happen to shake the foundations of Michael's sanity?

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter four: Worthless Flight_

The entire world evaporated into fire and smoke. Without a thought, the wraithlike arms wrapped around my frail body. Wooden splinters flew in all directions and peppered my hastily erected protective shell of arms. The smoke washed over the casing and cast everything in black shadows. The smoke seeped in through the slightest cracks in between the arms. I found myself coughing and quickly lifted the collar of my shirt over my mouth and nose.

I could see ghostlike figures marching in through what _used_ to be the front door. I couldn't count them accurately. Another bubble of abhorrence swelled up from an endlessly deep chasm in my heart. Why was this happening? I was this close to learning the name of the mastermind who ordered the death of my family! Goddamn them all to hell!

The smoke settled slowly and finally I could see through the haze. A single soldier stood in the hole. He was wearing a black armed forces suit with Kevlar. Obsidian body armor was strategically strapped to his chest, arms, legs, and thighs. A large black helmet with a dark visor obstructed my view of his face, but I could still see a firmly set chin. He was holding a military carbine in his hands and peering through a red scope. The barrel was pointed at the center of my chest. Instantly I dropped the large thug and flung all of my hands and arms around my body. Automatic fire exploded from the muzzle and slammed into my arms. These rounds were _much_ stronger than mere pistol fire! With each bullet, another hand was knocked away from my body. I couldn't reconstruct the shield as fast as his rifle could fire!

I felt a sudden tug at my red hair and a wave of heat swept past my temple. A bullet had nearly blown a hole in my skull! Cold, undiluted fear gripped my heart and out of desperation I lashed out with all of my hands. I suppose I got lucky then, for the moment I abandoned defense his carbine ran out of ammunition. He squeezed the trigger twice more and stared at me with an open mouth. No talking allowed, just action here.

A snakelike arm flew over my right shoulder. I took careful aim and stuffed a fist in his open maw. I felt his jaw dislocate from the force, but he couldn't scream in pain with my fist halfway down his throat. Two more hands leapt forward and crossed in front of his neck. I could see absolute terror in his eyes. With a scissor cutting motion, I lobbed off his head from his neck. The soldier's head traced bloody cartwheels in the air before smacking onto the floor. The corpse crumbled to the flooring and more blood stained the carpeting. Goddamn it, I had so much trouble over just _one_ freaking soldier? What am I going to do if I have to face…?

Two more soldiers stormed in through the remains of my front door. "Son of a…" were the words forming at my mouth when they both took aim and fired. All but one of my arms wrapped around me tightly. The remaining hand flew behind me and slammed a steel fist through the floor. Then it gripped the edge of the newly created hole and pulled me backwards at neckbreaking speeds. I quickly escaped the gunfire as I tumbled head over heels rearward. Even though everything I saw was a kaleidoscope of colors, I knew my way around this house well enough to know _exactly_ where I was. Another hand shot out, grabbed hold of a corner, and pulled me around the corner, further from the riflemen. I banged my elbows, head, and knees again and again, but it didn't hurt much. The arms swathed around me cushioned the blows.

I scrambled to my feet just as I heard feet stomping. My hands shot out around the corner and I felt them connect with something solid. I also heard a man expulse a groan of pain and I knew I had hit one of them. I enveloped myself with more arms and ran around the corner. I saw one soldier doubled over himself on the floor. He was struggling to regain his breath. But where was the other one? My question was answered a second later. Bullets hammered my arms at my back and the force of the bullets threw me off balance. _"Goddamnit! He got behind me! Careless, I'm being careless!"_ I screamed in my head.

My flesh hands shot out and they struck the carpet half a second before my body landed. Carpet burns on my palms and forearms sent fiery pain racing up my upper limbs but I didn't have the time to shout. Two spectral hands flew out and looped around the breathless gunman. With a double flick of the arms, I threw him over myself and toward his comrade. He somersaulted through the air and collided bodily against his ally. I struggled to my feet as the gunmen tried to untangle themselves.

A flash of clarity entered my frenzied mind. Perhaps some of my old sanity had returned for a meager moment. _"Run now! Run while they're distracted with each other! Get the fuck out of there now!"_

My mind was hotwired for flight rather than fight after all. This sounded like an extremely good idea. I turned around and was about to flee out the back door when another voice bellowed in my mind. It was the strange voice of the boy in the theatre! _**"**__N__**o!**__** K**__i__**l**__l t__**hes**__e __**m**__e__**n**__ n__**ow**__ a__**nd**__** y**__ou __**w**__o__**n**__'t __**ha**__v__**e**__ t__**o**__ f__**ac**__e __**t**__h__**em **__a__**g**__a__**in**__ l__**at**__e__**r!"**_

This also made sense. Why would I leave these guys at my six if it would only take a mere second to remove them as a threat? After a moment of deliberation, I took a single hand and slew the riflemen with one fell swipe. I felt a strange sense of delight and disappointment at the same time. Was that a decision between morality and strategy? Or was it a decision between good and evil for my soul? I felt a cold sense of calm descend on my frantic thoughts and everything became razor sharp. There was no morality in this world anymore, the murder of my family proved that. I felt no sympathy for the families of these soldiers. God knows who many more these monsters have killed.

It was so strange, how long had passed since my family was killed? It felt like an age ago. But it hadn't even been fifteen minutes. I couldn't look at the corpses, I just couldn't. Yet despite the short respite I had earned myself, I still couldn't feel misery or sadness. The full effects of the past ten minutes still hadn't cemented itself in my mind. I gritted my teeth and made my way toward the back door. I grabbed the handle and flung the flimsy door open. With that I bent over, my fingertips brushed the floor tiles, and bolted out the door like a marathon runner. My eerie arms trailed behind me in the wind, dragging along like a ridiculously long shawl.

The sun was setting before me. The crimson sky was being drained of color, just like my father's face when he died. Dark indigo hues spilled across the firmament like paint from an overturned bucket. A cold wind knifed across my face and arms like a dagger, but I didn't stop running. It occurred to me that I was wearing a light T-shirt and thin jeans, and yet my legs kept on pumping toward the setting sun. I wasn't going to head back. That place held nothing more for me; it was not my home anymore.

This must be the first time in forever that I've set foot outside without my human disguise. I felt oddly unclothed without it. Every windowpane held strangers' eyes; every house was a face that stared at me with curiosity and disgust. My red hair fluttered in the nighttime wind as I raced through my former neighborhood. Every shadow could hold a gunman in black. There were a lot of vehicles parked along the road. I could imagine a gunman behind every steering wheel, pointing a rifle at me. There could be snipers in people's houses; maybe they have killed the families inside just for a vantage point. Panic drove me faster and I made a snap decision to head into a nearby forest. The forest was pretty large and it circled the entire region. It was just outside the neighborhood block and I maybe could escape pursuit. The problem was I would definitely have to slow down; I couldn't go running into a forest at night. I would crack my head open on a low-hanging branch. Wouldn't that be a laugh, running from a battalion of well trained gunmen, just to slip in a forest and break my neck on a tree root.

With this in mind I cut across a yard and slipped between two houses. I could see the tree line on the other side of a chain link fence. I ran across the backyard and approached the fence at top speed. My "hands" lifted above my head and slammed the ground hard. I catapulted into the air like a tightly coiled spring, curled myself into a ball, and somersaulted over the metal hurdle. My spectral hands reached down and caught the earth. For a second I was suspended above the ground by the strength of the arms alone. Then momentum took over and carried me over the fence. I fell back on my feet and I was off again, running as fast as I could into the forest.

As soon as I reached the first few trees I reminded myself to slow down. I could hardly see through the trees, there was just too little light. Everywhere I looked I saw black trees stripped naked of leafs. A chilling atmosphere hung beneath the treetops as though trapped by the ebony branches. Goosebumps erupted along my exposed flesh arms. I crossed my arms and rubbed my upper arms briskly, trying vainly to keep the cold at bay. I had to keep moving, but I didn't know what to do now. My mind felt overloaded, I couldn't think straight. What was I going to do now? I couldn't go back to my home, there was definitely going to be more soldiers there. What were they going to do with my family's corpses? My family…

Immediately all of the anguish and pain fell upon me like an overdue tidal wave. I was at my weakest now. My entire family is dead! I have nothing else to live for! All of my hopes and dreams for the future have been shattered. I don't know what I am going to do anymore! I had plans for the future, but now I have _nothing_! Hot tears leaked from my ruby eyes and my knees went weak. I could feel myself dropping to the forest floor, but I couldn't feel anything through the black haze in my mind. The sweet scent of grass wafted in my nose. I don't know how long I laid there on the forest floor. I wept for my family, for my unborn baby sibling, for myself. I also cried at the loss of my hopes and dreams. I sobbed for a long time. I didn't even try to stifle my grief; I was slain on the cold, hard ground.

--------

I squeezed my eyes shut and the last of my tears dripped onto the grass. I couldn't just lay here. I had allowed myself a good pity party but enough was enough. Strength flooded into my limbs again. I planted my hands onto the ground and lifted my face out of the grass. It was then I saw a pair of bare feet standing just before me. I craned my neck and gazed up at the face of the boy from the theatre. Bandages still obscured his entire face except for his left eye. He looked down at me with a single azure eye. I glared up at him as if daring him to laugh at my anguish. Instead he did something that surprised me.

He knelt down and brought himself to my level. Cobalt eyes locked with crimson eyes. I felt composed in his presence. I know I hated him, but he was the only person I had left. I saw the dressings across his mouth rustle and he spoke harshly. His spiteful voice echoed in my mind.

"_**L**__o__**ok**__ a__**t yo**__urs__**el**__f. Y__**o**__u __**ar**__e la__**yin**__g __**i**__n __**th**__e c__**o**__l__**d**__ l__**ik**__e a __**def**__e__**a**__t__**ed **__**be**__as__**t**__** i**__n t__**hi**__s __**for**__es__**t**__. __**A**__r__**e**__ y__**ou**__ i__**nj**__u__**re**__d? __**Ar**__e __**yo**__u h__**urt**__?__**"**_

For a moment I was thrown off balance at his caring tone. It didn't last long.

"_**N**__o! __**Y**__o__**u **__**a**__r__**e**__ s__**t**__i__**ll**__ a__**liv**__e a__**n**__d __**so**__ y__**ou**__** s**__t__**il**__l h__**av**__e __**li**__f__**e**__. __**S**__t__**o**__p b__**lu**__b__**ber**__i__**n**__g o__**v**__er y__**o**__u__**r**__ p__**athe**__t__**i**__c d__**r**__e__**am**__s a__**n**__d __**tak**__e y__**ou**__r __**li**__fe i__**n**__ y__**o**__u__**r **__**own**__ h__**a**__n__**ds!"**_

I hated him so much. I leapt to my feet and he rose in union with me. We are the same height, I observed. His eyes never moved from mine. I glanced down at his feet and saw that there were no disturbed leafs or grass where he stood. He wasn't really here. I had already known this, but it was still startling.

"What are you?" I asked, "Are you just a figment of my imagination?" The boy just stood there, completely motionless. "If I stuck you across the face, would my hand go right through you?"

No answer. I raised my hand threateningly, but he didn't look at it. I shook my head back and forth. He was asking for this, I reasoned in my mind. Then with a wide swing I drove my fist straight into his hateful expression.

--------

Suddenly I was clutching dew drenched grass between my fingers. I was laying face down on the forest floor; just before he- that thing appeared. Did that actually just happen? I couldn't tell what was real anymore. I saw everything through a dreamlike haze. Was I going insane? Is my mind trapped in some sort of Limbo? Or have I already toppled over the cliff and was merely waiting for the sharp rocks at the bottom? God I was so confused and tired. I was exhausted beyond anything I have felt before now. I was mentally, physically, and emotionally bushed. And that damned apparition wasn't helping at all! With a great effort I pushed these thoughts into a shrouded corner of my psyche. These buzzing questions aren't going to help me now.

I pushed myself up and took a good look at my surroundings. There was very little light. The moon was a waning crescent hanging in the cerulean sky. Sparse moonlight peeked out through the treetop and illuminated my modest clearing. I saw large trees reaching heavenward with their naked branches. There were earthbound bushes spreading their wooden fingers in all directions. I saw a clearing beyond the trees to the east and decided to head in that direction. The leaves and grass were wet with dew, so they made no sound as I treaded on top of them. I reached the clearing and saw a great number of large boulders and stones piled upon each other. The entire eastern side of the knoll was strewn with stones, pebbles, and boulders. And yet I strode aimlessly into the open and began to pick a path up the eastern hillside.

It occurred to me that I was needlessly exposing myself. Then I settled on the fact that I was just too tired to care. If I stopped walking, I would think about my losses. Then I wouldn't be able to walk again. So I wandered the forest in a meaningless way, trying to stave off sleep. I was so tired that I bet I could sleep on these rocks. As I thought this the stones began to look awfully comfortable. I was even starting to lower myself on the pebbles when I heard a quick snapping sound from the west. It was behind me. Immediately sharp alertness flooded my senses and I was on my feet. Panic drove me up the hill and I scrambled over boulders. A sudden searing pain brought a cry to my lips, but I drove it down and stifled it into a pathetic whimpering. I rolled on my back and brought my left palm close to my face for inspection. A sliver of glass glittered in the moonlight. It pierced the heel of my palm and I could see blood oozing out of the puncture. Some bastard must have thrown a beer bottle onto this hillside and just walked away. The crescent moon escaped the low hanging clouds for a minute. By its light I saw even _more_ shards of glass littering the hillside I was so desperate to climb. Then I glanced backwards at the tree line surrounding the foot of the hill.

I saw a glint of light just behind a naked bush. I focused carefully and imagined the shape of a human body. Immediately I saw what I was looking for. A shadowy soldier decked in obsidian body armor was crouching in back of some bushes. The only reason I could see him was from the moonlight reflecting off of his visor. His right hand was hovering beside his helmet and I had no illusions that he wasn't calling for reinforcements. It was too late to stop him, I had to escape! A frantic panic gripped my chest and I once again made for the hilltop on hands and feet.

"_**P**__a__**th**__e__**t**__ic__**."**_ murmured the bandaged nightmare from his perch on a nearby boulder.

I tried to ignore him. He was easier to ignore than the blistering pain in my hand. Purely out of frustration I lifted my hand and gripped the sliver with my fingers. Agony brought tears to my eyes as the thin shard slipped out of my less-than delicate fumbling. It remained stubbornly fixated in my palm. A thought occurred to me right then. A silvery hand snaked out from behind me and pinched the glass shard. I found that I could easily take hold of the thin piercing piece. With a grunt of pain I ripped the shaving out of my palm. Immediately blood began to flow from the wound in earnest. The ghostly hand disappeared the instant my mind lost focus. The piece of glass landed on a flat stone and I could see how long it was. The sliver of glass was about two inches in length and a shred of skin was ensnared on it. I shuddered at the bloodied beer shard and continued my way up the hill. This time I moved with deliberation and took great care not to repeat the accident.

I was breathing hard with exhaustion and pain by the time I reached the hilltop. I was also ravenously famished! I hadn't eaten since lunchtime at school. Hunger and sleep deprivation distorted my vision. All I wanted was a warm bed with a piping hot microwave dinner. Oh, the desire was so strong I was practically envisioning it. I was nearly pulling myself into the make-believe electrically heated covers when my injured palm landed hard on a sharp pebble. Reality snapped itself together and I bit back a scream of pain and disappointment. There would be no sleep tonight, not when I was being hunted like a beast in a forest.

I heard the sound of rocks tumbling down more rocks. They were climbing up the hill! They were so close I practically feel their breath down my neck. I started down the opposite side of the mount. It was a slow slope with a discernable path, thank God. I nearly fell over myself in relief. I couldn't take another rock climb littered with broken glass. I threw myself in a full out run toward the tree line. I maybe could escape them in the wooded area. But then what? Was I just going to keep running from them until morning? Who said that they would disappear at dawn? They were obviously desperate to catch me and kill me. How was I supposed to get away from them!

The ground at my heel erupted. A spray of dirt peppered my cold arms and I snapped out of my thoughts. I didn't hear the sound of gunfire. They're using suppressors! A muted _puff_ came from behind me and I threw up my inhuman hands as protection. Rifle rounds bounced off of their palms with little force. I couldn't reach the soldier from here; he was all the way at the top of the hill. Goddamn it! If I had tried to fight them on the eastern hillside, I would have more cover. It occurred to me that if these arms are as powerful as they demonstrated before, I could turn any rock into a lethal missile. It was too late now, I could only turn and run into the forest. Soon the only companion I had was the noise of my own labored breathing. It was as though the sound of the slumbering forest was absorbing everything else. I turned right and wound my way off path.

My muscles felt like melted rubber. A cruel stitch had lodged itself in my ribs and I was having great difficulty breathing. I simply couldn't take another step! My legs unceremoniously dumped my body against a cold, wet tree trunk. I struggled to catch my breath. Exhale and inhale, exhale and inhale because that's the way to live. I sat there in silence, just breathing deeply, when the soft sound of feet pounding on the damp earth wafted into my ears. I leapt to my feet and loped into the night. A hopeless flight for my worthless life drove me further into the forest.

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End chapter four: Worthless Flight

What happens when someone is pushed too far? What does it sound like when a person driven to the edge "snaps"? The stage has been set. Who will listen to the symphony of madness?

Next chapter: _Counterattack_

Trivia question: If one train leaves Ohio at 2:10pm at 55km/h and another from Perth at 3:45pm at 142km/h; assuming a single track, when will they collide?

Real trivia question: What is the approximate number of vectors Mariko possesses in the anime? (BTW, if you can answer the first question you'll get a real reward.)


	5. Counterattack

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied, but I do own all of the original characters here. Elfen Lied belongs to Lynn Okamoto. Until the moment the copyright expires. Then the series is up for grabs!

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated **T** for bad language, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: This chapter was hard to write because I often imagine what my characters are feeling. That goes double when they're cold and hungry. And since Michael is suffering from both hunger and freezing temperatures… Damn I wish it was summer already!

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Five: Counterattack_

Damn winter and damn Jack Frost! I don't remember ever feeling this cold before. Every living particle of my person is screaming at me. I curled myself into a tighter ball and shivered uncontrollably. A voracious hunger gnawed at my aching stomach. It felt like a pump was affixed up to my abdomen and it was sucking all of my strength out of my limbs at a slow, but steady pace. The mere effort of shifting to a more comfortable position brought groans to my lips, yet I swallowed my misery. None of these conditions helped my melancholy.

How many hours have passed since I entered this damned forest? A tired and unhappy mind is no accurate clock. Nothing has changed. I am still being hunted like a wild beast. I have had no time for rest and I haven't had anything to eat except my shirt collar. I realized I was once again chewing on my tattered collar and promptly spat it out. My shriveled stomach organ rumbled in outrage. For a second I was afraid that the soldiers would hear.

Something _had_ to change otherwise I would be run ragged and easily shot down. I was bordering my limits for pain and misery. I couldn't just run anymore. I had to take charge of this situation and I had to take charge fast. I was hardly able to think straight. If only I could find a haven for an hour at least. Suddenly I remember Rambo. Now I hate Sylvester Stallone. I bet he didn't have to work in these conditions!

But now that I think about it, is the situation so different? Oh sure, I was no Green Beret, but with my powers I may be as dangerous as one. Also these guys were trying to _kill_ me, not just capture me and lock me up in an easily escapable jail. And there is the whole "well-trained battalion armed to the teeth" thing. That's a whole lot different than just a pathetic sheriff and a few deputies. Other than all of these things, I'm still on the wrong end of a manhunt and I still have these lethal weapons. If only I could think straighter!

At the moment I was roosted high in an oak tree. There wasn't much cover as like every other tree this oak was completely bare of leaves. But I blended into the shadows easily enough and I have found a nice little niche to sit my butt in. Give me two dry sticks and call me Robinson Crusoe. I dropped my head between my knees. Wow, I really was going delirious if I was comparing myself to Crusoe!

I tried to think strategically. This was like a game of chess I thought. Except, I was outnumbered one to one thousand. Plus with chess you can see all of the pieces and where they are. And I'm pretty sure that they aren't restricted to certain directions. Yeah, this wasn't like chess at all. Maybe Othello®…?

Ah screw it, I can't be rational on an empty stomach. I need to think of a way to escape, not think about board games. At my will a single ghostly hand pulled out of my back and hovered in front of my face. I studied the bizarre _thing_ before me. It was shaped like a human hand with four fingers and a thumb. It was mostly opaque, but I could still see past it as though it were a tinted window. I held up my right hand and pressed my palm against the other hand. It felt smooth and silky yet it also felt coarse at the same time. It reminded me of broken glass and how it could be smooth and yet still sharp. And another thing I realized. These hands don't _feel_ the same way as my real hands. I was pressing my palm against one of them, but I could hardly feel the flesh palm. It made sense when I thought back. Otherwise it would have hurt when I was blocking bullets.

I wasn't afraid of cutting my palm; these things weren't lethal unless I willed them to be. I shouldn't keep thinking of them as hands like my own. That would be confusing.

"These things are so powerful. Just like the hands of God." I murmured to myself. Then I heard a strange, disembodied laughter. Then the same unexplainable voice spoke.

"_N__**ot **__**w**__i__**th **__**th**__e w__**a**__y __**y**__o__**u h**__av__**e**__ b__**e**__e__**n **__**u**__si__**ng **__**t**__h__**e**__m. __**Y**__o__**u'v**__e g__**o**__t __**th**__e r__**i**__g__**ht **__**id**__e__**a**__, __**but**__ th__**e **__**w**__r__**on**__g __**e**__n__**t**__it__**y**__.__**"**_

For once I actually found myself agreeing.

"Yeah, you're right. The hands of God create life. These hands just destroy everything. They are like the hands of a demon."

With an enormous effort I pushed myself to my feet. I found balancing on the tree branch was relatively easy. The branch creaked and bent dangerously the straighter I stood. I quickly backed myself up so that my weight was on the point where the trunk and the branch joined. I was afraid that the noise had alerted the soldiers so I held my breath and listened intently. The only thing I _heard_ was freezing wind blowing through the trees and the _swish-swash_ of branches swaying back and forth. But still, there was something else I was not hearing. It was more of a _feeling_ rather than a _hearing_. It was a very minor _feeling_ that pressed around my temples and alerted me of unseen dangers.

At last I heard it with my two ears. It was the baying of hunting dogs! The option of running disappeared, leaving only the option to fight. I was so cold and hungry that I was bordering delirium, but I had no choice but to run. How many soldiers would be following the hounds? Maybe if I killed the dogs I could leave them with no way of tracking me? However, if I ran I would just get weaker. I needed to face them while I still had strength within me. Then there was no decision to be made. I would fight and I would kill them all.

The clamor of the dogs grew louder and before I knew it I could actually see vague shapes marching through the forest below me. I had a very good vantage point up in this tree, I discovered. Down at ground level all I could see was the blackness of the trees. But up here I also see the whitish blue grass extending all around me, which was acting as a contrast against the soldiers' obsidian body armor. With my eyes adjusted to the dark of the night, I could even make out dark human forms trudging over the lighter undergrowth. Not only that, but I could also see smaller shapes darting toward my outlook. It was the canines.

Despite my grim situation I could feel a mirthless smile tugging at the ends of my lips. Suddenly the lead dog began to throw itself toward my tree. The dog holder had to let go otherwise the enormous dog would tear off his arm in excitement. The released canine charged ruthlessly at me. The bloodthirsty cur flung itself against the trunk and its black nails drew long gashes into the wood. It howled in frustration because it couldn't possibly reach me. Suddenly four more mongrels escaped their owner's control. They all circled beneath me, trying to leap high enough to knock me down into their awaiting teeth. The real danger wasn't the dogs however.

Suddenly a blinding light engulfed my face. I could hardly see through the harsh light. I heard shouts of surprise and I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. I pulled myself to my full height and gazed down on the dogs and the mongrels. I lifted my real arms up at my sides and held my palms up. My eyes adjusted and I could see a group of gunmen pointing their rifles at me. I opened my mouth and spoke softly to myself.

"Come and get me."

With that quote I stepped off the branch and dropped straight down. While in midair my demonic hands extended from my back and pushed hard off of the trunk. I hurtled over the soldiers' heads and noted that all but two of them dropped down and covered their heads. Those fools never even fired their guns. With two hands I grabbed their heads and twisted them all the way around. Their necks snapped audibly and simultaneously. The corpses landed on the ground at the same time as I did. Instantly the enormous dogs fell upon me. At this distance I could see that they were pure-breed Rottweiler's. These dogs would tear me apart with their powerful jaws.

Surprisingly, I had no desire to kill the dogs. My fight was with humans, not with animals after all. But these dogs were the animals of humans and that was unforgivable. I erected my hands to fashion a cage. The ravenous hounds flung themselves upon my arms. Spittle dripped from their fangs as they tried desperately to fit their huge mouths through my arms. I closed my eyes before I flung the entire pack up into the air. My makeshift cage unwove itself and each of my arms found a midair target. Blood and gore began to rain down as my hands cut apart the helpless cur. Five sickening thuds resonated all around me.

Then I opened my eyes and all I saw were deplorable humans. There were eight armed soldiers in front of me, all of them staring death in the face. Two hands snaked out from behind me and grasped trees at either side of me. Then they jerked hard and flung me at the group like an arrow from a bow. Six hands bundled around me like a protective cloak. The remaining three hands tore into the closest soldiers like a pack of wolves. Screams and suppressed gunfire echoed throughout the sleeping forest. More blood and more gore began to coat the forest floor as each hand decapitated and dismembered again and again. At the climax a human arm cut off at the elbow was tossed into the air, painting the air in bright red colors.

In a short time nine human corpses (including the first two) were laying on the ground at my feet. Cruor had stained all my clothes and tennis shoes. My red hair was matted down with blood that didn't belong to me. I could feel a warm spot on my left cheek where blood had splattered. I didn't care one bit. I was exhilarated and breathless. You will never understand how it feels to be all powerful. I was completely superior and had no equal. I simply stood there, bathing in the afterglow.

I was careless.

It was almost too late when I realized my mistake. I had snapped two necks and then massacred eight soldiers. That means that there were ten gunmen. Yet only nine torsos lay on the ground. The numbers didn't add up unless I had somehow overlooked one! _Where was the final bastard…_?

All eleven demon hands appeared and flung themselves around my form. At the same time I heard a muted _puff_ sound from somewhere. I felt something strike the shield at my right. I turned my neck and found myself staring at the tip of a lead bullet. The single round had been pinched between two arms in midflight. If I had been _any_ slower, even by a nanosecond, I wouldn't be alive.

I wouldn't be alive anymore.

Have you ever been walking down a street and minding your own business when a speeding car runs by you? I'm talking so close one wheel is on your sidewalk. So close that you can feel the thrumming of the car's engine in your chest like a drum? And then you just keep walking for a few steps before falling to your feet in shock. You remember that feeling that you get, just a complete realization that you could have been killed for absolutely _no_ reason. And you walk away from the street with a new appreciation for the miracle known as life?

If you have had this happen, then you know exactly how I felt right now. The point of the bullet seemed to glare at me, taunting me. It had gotten so close, much closer than any other bullet. I dropped the bullet and watched it disappear under a patch of grass. I realized that I was holding my breath. I exhaled and focused my eyes into the forest around me. The gunman had to be somewhere in the direction the bullet came from, but I couldn't tell where. Even if I ran toward there, I would probably miss him in this blackness. Even worse, I would probably expose my back once more. How was I going to find him? I glanced down at the heavily armed bodies behind me.

A look of realization dawned on my haggard face. There was an idea. I glanced briefly into the dark before I walked over to the corpses. "_When you think you have no weapons, then your enemies will provide eagerly"_, I thought gleefully. I knelt down in the grass beside the nearest body. I reached toward the neck and felt for a clasp to his helmet. The body was still warm to the touch. Finally I managed to pry the obsidian helmet off of his head. Even though it was still very dark I could tell that the man behind the visor was still young. He had a round face with stout cheeks. His open eyes were rolled into the back of his skull. I didn't give him another thought and tried to fit the heavy piece of equipment over my head. Unfortunately I ran into two problems: my horns. I could hardly see out of the visor and the inside of the helmet was pressing down painfully on my protrusions. Finally I managed to adjust the equipment so I could see through the eye pieces. It still hurt my horns but some discomfort was a small price to pay for this huge advantage. When I looked through the eyepiece everything was cast into a bright green color. _"Just as I thought, night vision!"_

This was how they could maneuver so easily in the dark. Not only that I realized, but there appear to be other settings as well. I groped around the side of the plating and found a few buttons of different shapes. A triangular shape purged the world in darkness. That was normal vision. A circular button brought up night vision again. I fumbled with a square button and immediately everything became a hideously dark azure color. For a second I thought there were two buttons for normal vision. I held my hand in front of my face and found a multicolored shape. I immediately recognized it for thermal vision. _Damn_ this was a fine piece of equipment! Probably cost a pretty penny as well.

Suddenly I saw an orange and red shroud moving between pillars of blue. A merciless grin split across my face. _"There you are!"_ I crowed in my mind. I started toward the moving threat when I felt my left foot catch on a root. Immediately I was sprawled on the ground and tasting dirt in between my teeth. In thermal vision everything the same temperature looks the same, so I can't make out my surroundings easily. _"That explains why they didn't just use thermal vision all the time to find me out."_ I groaned inwardly. Hopefully nobody saw that…

I sprang to my feet and depressed the circular trigger. The forest sprang into 3-D and I could make see clearly again. At the same time I could make out movement in the darkened horizon. I didn't need thermal vision to find him anymore. Carefully picking my path through the trees and the shoe-grabbing roots, I slowly zeroed in on my target. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. My demon hands swept aside a low-hanging branch and I skulked beneath it. Finally the target was in range!

I fingered the square button and saw a heat signature crouching on the other side of a blue pillar (tree). I strode up to the tree and leaned weight against it. I sneered and spoke ruthlessly to the man.

"Looks like I've found you!"

With my hands I grabbed at the man. All of the sudden the "body" fell apart. Several red-orange blobs dumped out. I looked up at what I had grabbed and found it was a recently worn set of body armor. I quickly activated night vision and saw that each blob was a spherical ball with blinking lights.

"Predictable diclonius."

I whirled around and wrapped my demon hands around me tightly. There was the soldier I was looking for. But he wasn't wearing the usual obsidian armor, he was wearing a skin-tight suit that seemed to reflect and shimmer. With a sudden dawning, I realized that this suit must obscure his heat signature. It was only then that I saw what the gunman was holding in his palm. It was a pen-shaped device with a trigger on one end. _It was a detonator!_ The soldier grinned before thumbing the trigger.

"Oh fu-."

Each of the spheres exploded simultaneously. The shock wave was powerful enough to shatter the tree trunk. All of my demon hands were swatted away as though by a giant's hand. What felt like a solid brick wall crushed my body and flung me high into the air. Heaven and Earth spun over and over my head. No, that was wrong; I was the one tumbling gracelessly through the air. Everything I felt was pain and pain and _**pain!**_ I tried to scream but all the breath had been knocked out of my lungs. Suddenly the kaleidoscope of the sky and the soil ended with a sickening crunch and agony in my side. I couldn't tell which side, they both hurt equally. I could feel myself rolling in the dirt before the roller coaster finally stopped. I was lying on my stomach and feeling every particle of my being throb in anguish. My ears began to ring painfully like a thousand alarm clocks. I couldn't move at all. None of my beaten muscles would budge. With each breath I could feel a terrible grinding in one or more of my ribs. I've never broken a bone before, but I was pretty sure that I had now. It felt like a demon was thrusting a flaming pitchfork in my right side.

Then a steel-tipped boot drove itself in my ribcage. I howled in agony, my cries echoed back in my ears. The boot sought leverage beneath my body and finally pushed me over on my back. It was easier to breath now. Then the same heavy boot stomped directly on my chest. I could feel the busted rib stabbing into me. My head snapped back and I tried to scream, but there was no air in my lungs. I could only draw in haggard breaths, each one accompanied with agony. I was so overwhelmed with suffering that I almost missed the lone soldier talking just above me. He sounded pleased at the sound of my strangled breathing.

"Oh this is just too much! I've finally brought down a monster of my own. And I did it on my own too!"

I squinted through the black haze and up at his face. He was a large man with broad shoulders. He had a solid face and a sharp chin sprinkled with stubble. His eyes were lost in the shadows. I could see a wide open grin plastered on his goddamned face. I wanted to grab that jaw of his and tear it off his head! He seemed to read the expression on my face and just expulsed a deep laugh. The bastard leaned down further and pushed more weight onto my injured chest. Again I wanted to scream but the noise only came out as a strangled gurgle.

"It's common knowledge that diclonius can't use their vectors when they're in pain. You're all mine now fucker."

His right hand reached down to his thigh and produced a small caliber pistol. It looked like a Heckler & Koch MK23 Mod 0 with a silencer attached. He held the pistol in front of my face, just below the hairline. I stared unmoving at the muzzle. The bastard then pointed the gun directly at my right eyeball. I couldn't even see the tip out of my left eye. His grin split even wider and he began to resemble a killer shark. Finally he leaned back all the way and lined the gun up directly at my forehead.

"If you weren't so goddamn stupid then you wouldn't be the one dying right now. Just remember that when you meet your bastard parents in _Hell!_ Now that's a nice glare you're giving me!"

He barked in laughter before fixating on me the most sadistic face. He mouthed the words _good-bye mutherfucka_ and pulled the trigger.

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End Chapter Five: Counterattack

Diclonius can't use their vectors while they are in pain. That has been established and repeated time after time. Without a doubt there is no escape possible. Surely Michael has died like the baby he swore to protect. Except I don't see a "Story Completed" tag on this tome, do you?

Trivia: Which Austrian artist was paid homage to in the opening sequence of the _Elfen Lied_ anime series? Include first and last name.


	6. Amongst the Dead

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Elfen Lied. Elfen Lied belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the characters featured in this story are mine.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated **T** for bad language, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: In Jewish theology the archangel Michael fought the demon Samael during Lucifer's ultimate rebellion. When GOD casted all of the traitors out of Heaven, Samael tried to drag St. Michael into Hell by holding onto his wings. GOD intervened and saved Michael from Hell.

Except this isn't Heaven and GOD is not here to save Michael. Who will save Michael Mordare from Hell except for Samael himself?

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Six: Amongst the Dead_

I was in so much pain that my mind was on the verge of going into shock. The bastard above me was about to pull the trigger and splatter my brains across the ground. I couldn't let that happen! I fought through the hastening horizon and squeezed my eyes shut. I did not see the soldier mouth the words _good-bye mutherfucka_. I drew all of my focus together and pierced through the blackening haze.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl.

I opened my mouth with a scream and from my open jaw exploded forth a single demon hand. I reached up to smother the pistol and heard a gun discharging directly before my face. The fated bullet impacted dead center of my hand, stopping it cold. The force of the round forced the hand to drop until it was pressing against my forehead. During the whole time the bullet was twirling in my palm like a deadly ballerina. It was so close I could feel the heat emanating off of its shell. Finally I opened my eyes and behold the bullet was hovering just above my brow. I discarded the shell and looked right at the soldier towering above me. He had a look of shock frozen on his broad face and I saw his gun hand trembling. A sneer developed on my face and I spoke callously.

"I'm not supposed to be able to use vectors- you called them- while in pain? Well I'm in a _world of hurt_ right now and I can control these hands just fine."

The lone soldier spoke fearfully, "It's not supposed to be possible. It's a genetic anomaly that occurs so rarely. The number of diclonius that can fight through pain is so few they've never even been able to verify how it happens!"

I snickered despite myself. Then the man swiftly leveled the pistol again. Before he could shoot I shoved two demon hands into the barrel of the gun. The instant he fired the gun exploded in his hand. I saw his right hand rip apart. He staggered backwards and held his bleeding mangled hand before his face, as though in disbelief. His first three fingers were snapped like twigs. If it wasn't for the dark I would have seen bone poking through his fingers. The pain must have finally hit him because he began to scream uncontrollably.

"Are you saying that I'm a mutant among mutants? Isn't that interesting?"

A number of hands came out from behind me and pushed me to my feet. I rose from the ground to a standing position like Nosferatu Count Orlok. A single demon hand lanced out and slammed an open palm into the soldier's chest. While reeling backwards his left hand swiped at his belt. Eleven arms appeared and overlapped each other to form a protective wall between me and him. What he grabbed wasn't a gun and it didn't look like a traditional grenade. It was a small silver canister with a grenade-like ring and handle. With his thumb he tore off the pin and flicked the handle before hurling it directly at me. He fell to the ground and rolled a distance away. For a moment my mind blanked and I could only stare in horror. The grenade sat in the grass for a full second before-

A deafening _**BANG**_ and a blinding light brighter than anything I have ever seen discharged. The light was so bright that I could still see the grenade sitting in the patch of grass. The image had been burned into my retinas. I squeezed my eyes shut and slapped my hands over my eyes. My ears stung unbearably and I could not hear out of them. I gritted my teeth, expecting to feel a cold knife slitting across my throat. I was sightless and unable to hear. I couldn't even tell if my demon hands were still active. After five seconds the image began to fade and a high-pitched ringing began to echo in my ears. This was good, that meant my ears weren't damaged. That flash bang hadn't been close enough to burst my eardrum.

I was so tired, so very tired. Life was such an ordeal and I was nowhere near its end. For a minute I stood with my eyes lightly closed and my hands lying at my feet. I was voluntarily completely defenseless. Perhaps I was hoping that the soldier would have a second gun. Perhaps I was hoping that I wouldn't have to go on. No such luck.

I opened my eyes and the soldier was nowhere to be found. He chose escape instead of killing me, what a useless bastard. I was alone in the forest. I knew that because the slight pressure on my temple had resided. The only sound was that of the slumbering forest. I turned my gaze skyward and saw that the first rays of sunlight were inching across the sky. Was it daylight already? There I was, just standing there in the early morning frost when the thought first entered my head.

"_Now what?"_

For that I had no answer.

"_What do you mean, you have no answer?"_

I don't know what to do. I don't have a plan. I'm so tired.

"_Then make a plan! Don't give up, don't _ever_ give up!"_

It would be easier, just giving up the ghost.

"_If you surrender then you will die. Do you want to die? Is that it, huh?!"_

I don't… I don't want to die yet. I have (had) so much to live for. But I'm so-

"_Shut up and start moving. Just one step in front of the other. Don't stop or you won't be able to start again."_

It seems like I've got another addition to my mantra. Exhale and inhale, exhale and inhale, just one step in front of the other, that's the way to survive.

"_Go home."_

I knew I had to go home. I didn't want to, but there were unanswered questions. I had to face my parents' corpses. I once heard that if you face problems like these head on that you could avoid psychological problems later in life. But did I have a "later in life"? For that I had no answer.

And so I put one foot in front of the other. I don't know how I was doing it. A thunderstorm of thoughts built up in my head and blotted out everything. I was merely wandering a preset path towards a place I once called home. The travel didn't matter, the thoughts didn't matter, nothing but _answers_ mattered anymore. My heart was so heavy that my feet began to drag along the ground. It was so hard to think back. I couldn't remember what Sarah Mordare's voice sounded like. I couldn't remember feeling Tony Mordare's full embrace. All I knew was pain and grief and misery.

The unrelenting cold felt worse than ever, but my stomach had gone silent. I wasn't hungry or full. I didn't care anymore. I couldn't feel a thing.

Then my dead stare lifted and I found myself standing in front of my house. The front door had been blasted off of its hinges and the doorframe had been replaced by a yawning hole. There were no lights on inside the house, so the hole was completely dark.

"Mom and Dad always hated electric bills." I murmured to myself sadly.

How long would it be until someone noticed? Why had nobody already noticed? What if thieves had already molested the place I had once called home? What if this was an ambush? What if the bodies had already been moved, leaving me with no answers?

I couldn't just stand there in the cold with these meaningless thoughts. And so I took my final step into home. The Darkness pressed in all around me like a thousand hands. For a second I was disoriented, caught unawares at the strange sensation in my stomach. Then I recognized it as longing. I was homesick even though I was inside my house. But this was no longer home to me.

I turned my head in the direction of the living room and found strangely artistic scene. Soft sunlight seeped in from a large window and illuminated the gore-laden living room. I saw everything was covered blood, it was everywhere. The walls were drenched in blood. On the ceiling was a large patch of brown, the color of blood exposed to oxygen and time. The carpet was beyond any hopes for repair there was so much blood soaked into it. Mother and Father had not moved from their ending embrace. How could they? They were _dead_.

My footsteps felt too heavy as I closed the gap between me and my parents. When I was finally standing above them, I dropped to my knees. I laid my hands on my father's scholarly face and closed his eyes. Then I did the same for my mother. My hand brushed lightly against her soft face and found it to be cold. The feeling of longing doubled. I grasped the bottom of my mother's sweatshirt and lifted it over her swollen belly. Her previously pregnant womb was sickeningly deflated like a ripped water balloon. The sight brought hot bile up my throat and I fought to swallow my misery. This was nothing compared to what I was going to do next.

"I don't want to do this Mom, but I have to know. I'm sorry for desecrating your body but I have no choice." I choked out quietly.

I placed both of my hands on Mom's stomach. Then I summoned a single demon hand –or should I call them vectors? The vector hovered over her womb as I gathered my courage. Then it lowered and began to slice carefully into her stomach. To my surprise only a little blood leaked out from the wound. Her heart wasn't beating anymore, so the blood wasn't flowing.

Maybe it was a good thing, maybe it wasn't. I slowly and deliberately took another vector and began to slice it wider. Suddenly an agonizing, burning pain tore through my stomach and I found myself heaving. No vomit expulsed from my mouth, I had nothing in my stomach to throw up. Finally the dry heaves subsided and I was just breathing hard. With nothing stopping me I went back to my filthy work. At last the womb lay open to the world.

Suddenly I was afraid to look inside. But I couldn't give up, not now when I have gotten so far. A cold hand gripped my heart and I lifted up off my knees to peer inside. As soon as I saw the baby, my fears evaporated. Eagerness overwhelmed me and I reached in and lifted out the infant. The sunlight seemed to fill up the entire area with warmth.

I had a beautiful baby sister.

Tears began to run down my cheeks unbridled. She was so beautiful and so small. Her weight was almost nonexistent. Tiny fingers were curled up into even tinier fists. Her closed eyes and softly puffed cheeks were so peaceful that she may have been sleeping if it weren't for the quarter sized hole in her chest.

Harsh sobs tore themselves out of my chest. I gently lowered the infantile corpse into my arms and began to rock my sister back and forth. How long had I been looking forward to this? And here I was at last, holding my baby sister in my arms. My greatest desire had finally been realized. Here she was at long last. She hasn't even heard her name, I realized. I spoke softly.

"I'm here Theresa Donna Mordare. Your big brother is here."

Her young blood began to soak into my shirt but I paid no attention. I was content to kneel here with my baby sister until time ended. I had dreamed of this moment so often. I was cooing at baby Theresa and rocking her in my arms while she giggled right back. Sarah Mordare was lying in a large couch and smiling so happily at Theresa and me. Tony was kneeling beside her with a Polaroid camera and he was taking pictures of the two of us. Baby Theresa reached up with a tiny hand and grasped my red hair in a petite fist. I was laughing and everyone began to laugh. We were all laughing and we were all crying and we are all dying.

My hand brushed Theresa's cheek and trailed up to the top of her head. Two abnormally large horns stuck firmly out of her skull. She would have grown into the horns if she had been given the chance. It was hard to tell with all of the blood, but I could make out a patch of red hair growing on top of her head. This was the answer I had been searching for. This was the reason she had died. This was the reason we had all died. I know I am dead inside. I feel as dead as if that lone soldier had put a bullet in my head. We had all died because Theresa and I both bare horns.

It was so unfair. It wasn't our fault we are different. We didn't ask for this. Now that I think about it, would Theresa also have the same powers that I do? Probably so, I wasn't the only one considering the way the soldiers were talking. They mentioned diclonius as though there were many instead of just one. Why did we have to die though? Was it because we are different or is it because we are more powerful? Are humans so despicable that they can't stand the thought of something being more powerful than they are? Is that the reason Theresa Donna Mordare is _dead?!_

**"**_E__**x**__a__**ct**__l__**y**__.__**"**_

The boy from the theatre stood behind me. I reluctantly held Theresa out and put her back into Sarah's womb. There was no point in putting her anywhere else. Then I turned around and looked up at the bandaged face of the boy. His single blue eye locked with my red eyes. Then he knelt down to my level and brought his face closer. I didn't hate him anymore. He was the only person I had left, even if he didn't have a physical form.

**"**_Th__**is**__ i__**s**__** t**__h__**e**__ n__**a**__t__**ure**__ o__**f**__ h__**um**__a__**ns**__. __**T**__h__**e**__y __**ki**__ll __**ev**__e__**ry**__o__**n**__e t__**ha**__t __**i**__s __**d**__i__**f**__f__**e**__re__**nt**__. __**War**__s a__**re **__**fo**__u__**g**__ht o__**ver**__ i__**n**__s__**ign**__i__**f**__i__**ca**__n__**t **__**de**__ta__**il**__s l__**i**__k__**e**__ s__**ki**__n c__**o**__l__**or**__ or b__**eli**__ef__**s**__. T__**h**__e__**y **__**ce**__rt__**ain**__l__**y**__ wo__**n't**__** o**__v__**erl**__oo__**k**__** m**__or__**e**__ o__**bv**__io__**u**__s d__**iff**__e__**re**__n__**c**__es __**li**__ke __**ours**__.__**"**_

"Who- just who are you?" I pleaded hoarsely.

And with that the bandages began to unravel. All of the tightly woven dressings fell apart at some unheard command. When they were all on the ground I looked up into the face most familiar to me. It was like looking into a mirror except with a subtle discrepancy. He looked exactly like I did but there was something different that I could not put my finger on. Then I recalled an interesting article I read a while back.

A journalist had once asked a famous artist a question. The question was this, "Which face do you find hardest to draw?" After some consideration, the artist answered, "My own."

**"**_**I**__'m y__**ou**__.__**"**_

The partially bandaged doppelganger rose to his feet and towered over me. It was so strange watching my own mouth contort to such a fearsome and crazed grin. My eyes on his face grew wide with excitement as he spoke. His voice was low and guttural and his words held a sharp edge.

**"**_I'__**m**__** t**__h__**e**__ p__**ar**__t o__**f**__** yo**__u __**t**__h__**at **__**l**__us__**t**__ f__**o**__r __**bl**__o__**od**__s__**h**__e__**d**__ a__**nd**__ v__**io**__l__**enc**__e. __**I**__'__**m**__** th**__e g__**r**__o__**w**__i__**ng**__ f__**a**__c__**ti**__o__**n**__ i__**n**__** you**__r __**t**__u__**rm**__o__**i**__l__**ed**__ m__**in**__d __**t**__ha__**t**__** p**__u__**s**__h__**es**__ y__**o**__u __**to**__ k__**ill**__ e__**n**__d__**less**__l__**y**__.__**"**_

I couldn't look away from the murderous mirror image standing in front of me. With my undivided attention, the boy continued his frightening sermon.

**"**_**I**__ a__**m**__ t__**he **__**Da**__r__**k**__n__**e**__ss __**t**__h__**a**__t __**de**__s__**c**__e__**nds**__ o__**n**__** yo**__u__**r**__ s__**le**__e__**pi**__n__**g**__ t__**ho**__u__**ght**__s l__**ik**__e __**a**__ c__**ru**__e__**l**__ nig__**ht**__m__**are**__. __**I**__** a**__m __**th**__e __**Voi**__c__**e**__ t__**h**__a__**t**__** t**__e__**ll**__s __**y**__ou __**t**__o __**sla**__u__**ght**__e__**r**__ hu__**ma**__n__**s**__. I __**am**__ y__**ou**__r k__**i**__ll__**er**__** i**__n__**s**__t__**inct**__s.__**"**_

He knelt back down and brought his face within inches of mine. I felt a chill run down my spine.

**"**_**I**__** a**__m __**y**__o__**u**__.__**"**_

Finally the spell broke and I fell away. The figure in front of me did not disappear. A lump formed in my throat and I could hardly speak above a whisper.

"Are you the one that gave me my powers?"

He shook his head.

"_T__**h**__es__**e **__**p**__o__**we**__rs a__**r**__e __**n**__o__**bo**__dy'__**s**__ b__**ut**__** y**__ou__**r **__**ow**__n.__**"**_

"So you can't take these hands away?"

Another shake of the head. Now he spoke with a tone of urgency.

"_I__**t'**__s ti__**me **__**t**__o l__**e**__a__**v**__e, y__**o**__u ar__**en**__'t __**s**__af__**e**__ h__**er**__e. __**T**__a__**k**__e a g__**oo**__d __**lo**__ok a__**ro**__un__**d**__.__**"**_

I did just that without rising off the floor. Wiping leftover tears from my eyes cleared my vision and exposed the danger. Against the far wall was a small rectangular box with wires looping in and out of the case. I immediately recognized it as a C4 explosive. My eyes widened and I flung my gaze around the room. I spotted two more C4's on different walls. No doubt there were more bombs planted throughout the house.

"_G__**at**__he__**r**__ t__**he**__ b__**a**__r__**e **__**e**__sse__**nt**__i__**a**__ls a__**nd**__ le__**ave**__ th__**is**__ p__**la**__c__**e**__ po__**st **__**ha**__st__**e"**_

Now it was my turn to shake my head sadly. The boy glared angrily at me. I looked up at him with sorrowful eyes as I spoke. Hiccups broke my words.

"I don't want to leave my parents. I- can't- I just can't do anything anymore. My- my life has been ruined and I…"

I sucked in a deep breath.

"I don't want to go on."

My double glared murderously at me and my eyes dropped to the floor. I didn't see his mouth screw up into a twisted snarl.

"_T__**hen**__ w__**h**__a__**t**__** wa**__s t__**h**__e __**pu**__r__**po**__s__**e**__ o__**f**__** le**__av__**in**__g t__**he**__** f**__o__**res**__t__**?"**_

Speaking was easier by now. I didn't feel hiccups interrupting me anymore.

"I escaped the woods so I could find answers. I wanted to know why this happened. Now I know it wasn't my fault that everyone died."

I looked up at him with rebellious eyes, daring him to challenge my suicidal decision. He took up that challenge and spoke spitefully in my face.

"_**A**__n__**sw**__er__**s?**__** Is**__ t__**h**__a__**t**__** a**__ll y__**ou**__** w**__an__**t?**__** Yo**__u d__**o**__n__**'t**__ h__**av**__e a__**ll**__ o__**f**__ t__**he**__ an__**sw**__e__**r**__s __**an**__d __**yo**__u'r__**e**__ j__**u**__s__**t **__**giv**__in__**g**__** u**__p! __**W**__h__**o**__ w__**as**__** t**__he __**ma**__n w__**ho**__** ki**__ll__**ed**__ y__**o**__u__**r**__ f__**a**__m__**i**__l__**y**__? __**Wh**__a__**t**__ a__**re**__**t**__h__**e**__** di**__cl__**o**__n__**ius**__ an__**d**__ w__**h**__e__**re**__ a__**r**__e t__**he**__y? __**Yo**__u c__**a**__n__**'t **__**j**__u__**s**__t __**die**__ w__**i**__t__**h**__ su__**ch**__** a**__n ins__**ign**__if__**i**__ca__**nt **__**ex**__i__**s**__ten__**ce!"**_

I gritted my teeth and fought the urge to scream back at him. I ultimately failed.

"So what! You said it yourself: humans are hostile to anyone different! This world is hostile to my kind! How can I fight that?! How can I move on?! I don't need anything else! I don't have anything else!"

Frustration and anger overwhelmed me for a second and I couldn't speak. My hands had curled into fight fists and I was on the verge of breaking down. A cold hand landed softly on my right shoulder and I flinched away.

The hand remained firmly pressed down and I just trembled. Why was I so hated? I haven't done anything wrong! God damn all humans and their despicable persecution! All I wanted was to live peacefully and they wouldn't let me! I wasn't going to hurt anyone! But it didn't matter now, my peaceful life was over. I swallowed a scream and just sat there trembling in fury. Tears were treacherously balancing on my eyelids.

"_Th__**is **__**w**__or__**l**__d h__**as**__ f__**a**__il__**ed**__** y**__o__**u.**__ S__**o**__ c__**ha**__ng__**e**__ t__**h**__e __**w**__o__**r**__l__**d**__ i__**n**__t__**o **__**my **__**w**__o__**rl**__d.__**"**_

"But how?"

"_B__**y **__**ki**__l__**lin**__g a__**ll**__ o__**f**__** th**__e __**h**__u__**ma**__ns__**."**_

All of the sudden I felt calm. I could feel the power in his hand. What could hurt me if I had this power? I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. Mother and Father had sacrificed themselves to save me, was I just going to waste their gifts? Whoever it was that ordered the attack was obviously afraid of me and my power. Otherwise he wouldn't have tried to kill me before my power had awakened. I was going to give him a damned good reason to be afraid!

I opened my eyes and saw the boy's hand in front of me. I reached my hand out and had one last thought.

"_I'm sorry Mother. I'm sorry Father."_

I grabbed his hand and he lifted me to my feet. All the problems in the world were the fault of humans. They didn't deserve this oasis in space called Earth. Perhaps we, the diclonius, could do a better job. Nay, rats in a cage could have done a better job than the despicable humans. We are different, we can learn from our mistakes. Even more important, we can learn from human's mistakes. It can work, it _must_ work! I didn't know it at that time, but I had slipped into the diclonius mindset. My life as a human was over; my reign as diclonius was just beginning.

However…

"I'll live on, but we must agree on one thing."

The boy stared at me with curious eyes.

"Michael Mordare died tonight."

I could feel the boy smiling his cold and sadistic smile. I surged on.

"I want people, when they think of Michael Mordare, to think of a nice boy who died in a tragedy. I don't want people to think of him as a terrorist or a murderer. I want to leave that much of a legacy behind."

"I want to create a new persona for me to adopt. We will kill under this name and respond to nothing else. Even if someone says Michael Mordare we won't acknowledge him. Michael is amongst the dead."

The boy grinned from ear to ear with his shark-like smile. He knew what was coming as well as I did. I knew the perfect name. I had read about this mythical figure ages ago, but his name still stayed with me. I knew a vague background and the more I remembered the more the name seemed to fit. I could not think of a better name. I spoke with absolute conviction.

"From this day forth, we are Samael, the angel of death and massacre."

The boy began to chuckle and I feel pleased myself. It was like my life was a jigsaw puzzle and I had found the final piece. All of the sudden I realized something important. My ribs weren't hurting.

"That's odd." I said out loud, "My ribs should be broken or at least cracked. But they feel just fine."

**"**_**D**__ic__**lo**__n__**iu**__s __**ar**__e b__**ui**__l__**t**__** b**__et__**te**__r t__**ha**__n hu__**ma**__n__**s."**_ murmured the Voice.

Just how many powers did I possess? This was becoming _interesting._ I almost felt like laughing. Then I looked down at my parent's corpses and the feeling died in my stomach. My former life was like the Garden of Eden I would never forget. There was no going back after this.

I didn't have much time and I knew it. It was a wonder the C4 hadn't gone off. I wasn't going to walk over there and figure out how much time was left. I had to move fast.

With an unknown amount of time left I took off running around the house. I quickly confirmed my suspicion, there were more bombs around. I ignored them and found my first objective: a freaking coat! It was a dark azure jacket with a sweeping hood. It had red and yellow flames burning their way up the sides. It was my favorite jacket. More importantly, it was warmer than a light T-shirt.

The next thing was just an afterthought. I quickly tore up the stairs and entered the attic loft. There I found my brown wig. I remembered it falling off while I was in the attic haunted by gruesome visions. Damn, it felt like an eternity since that happened, but it probably hasn't even been twelve hours! Time flies when you're having fun and slows to a crawl when you're being chased through a frigid forest through the entire night. I grabbed the wig because I wasn't going to walk around outside with my hair and horns in plain sight.

The next thing was a small first aid kit. It was small enough for me to be able to fit it into my jacket pocket. It had bandages and dressings in it along with some medical alcohol. I wasn't expecting many injuries, but it was never a bad thing to be prepared.

Finally I pilfered my father's secret stash of cash. He kept it in a black box with a lock. A single vector snapped the cheap lock with ease and I began stuffing twenties and fifties into all of my pockets. I wasn't guilty over stealing; it was going for a good cause. There was only one thing left.

I strode into the living room for the last time. Sitting on the floor where I had unconsciously dropped it was the high-tech helmet I had stolen. I knelt down and picked up the heavy thing and held it in my hands for a moment. The Voice spoke questioningly.

"_W__**hy **__**a**__re __**yo**__u c__**ar**__r__**y**__i__**ng t**__h__**a**__t __**hel**__m__**e**__t f__**or**__? __**It**__** wi**__ll o__**nly**__ s__**lo**__w __**yo**__u __**d**__o__**wn**__.__**"**_

I peered into the electronic eye set on the front of the helmet. I saw a name etched into the side of the helm, T. STEER. I wondered what kind of person T. STEER would have been if he had never gotten into this mess. Then I dropped the thought and answered the hanging question.

"This helmet is my only way to find out who ordered the attack on my family. This isn't some cheap piece of equipment bought just anywhere. If I can find out what company makes this I can force them to tell me who all is buying them. This is my only clue, even if it is pretty damn heavy."

Now with everything I needed I started out the front door (what was left of it). Then I stopped and turned around. I walked over to my parents' corpses and spoke, "I'm sorry that this happened to you guys. I loved you both so much that it feels like my heart is breaking. I swear that I'll make them pay. I swear it on my life!"

All of the sudden I heard a shrill noise. I looked up at the source and found the C4 was beeping loudly! I cursed and took off toward the door as fast as I could. Two vectors reached out, grabbed each side of the doorway, and pulled me outside extremely fast. And not a moment too soon! The second I cleared the doorway a massive explosion ignited from inside the house. All of the windows were blown out and shimmering shards of glass rained down. Arms overlapping each other protected me from the hail. I staggered to my feet and stared at the tragic scene. The house that I've been living in for five years was going up in smoke. A rolling fireball burned in the center of the building and destroying every flammable object it could reach. Tongues of fire licked their way up to the second floor within seconds, making me think that perhaps gasoline was involved. By now all materialistic things I possessed were burning. My over-stuffed closet must be going up like a match, I thought grimly.

I didn't care, that place wasn't my home anymore. If home is where the heart is, then where is home when your heart was broken? It didn't matter anymore.

I stood before the burning house and looked at my fingertips.

"When I said Michael has to die, I mean that he cannot be found alive. I have to get rid of everything that connects me to Michael. That means _everything_."

I didn't have the time to gather up courage so I just knelt down in front of a burning patch of dried grass. I held my fingertips above the fire before sticking them straight into the heart of the blaze. Agonizing pain so great tore up my arms and clawed at the back of my eyes. The heat was so intense that I could hardly stand it. I opened my mouth and let out a howl of pain, both inside and out. Vectors exploded from my back and flailed in the air as though joining me in my screaming. My cry was drowned out by the roaring fire but I could still feel all of the emotions draining out of me. The pain was so great that I nearly pulled my fingers out of the fire. But then I pushed on and held them in and watched as the flames permanently scarred my fingers. My prints would be erased forever. Even if I touched something with my fingers no investigation would be able to match my prints.

After an eternity of pain passed I pulled my ruined fingers out of the inferno. I breathed in and out through my nose. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I would scream again. Blood oozed out of the rippled scars. I felt the weight of the medical pack in my jacket pocket, but I couldn't grab it. A hand extended from my back and fetched the pack. Soon the first aid kit was open on the grass and I had wrapped dressings and bandages all around my hands. I wasn't afraid of an infection, but then again I wasn't exactly a doctor. I considered the alcohol, but then I decided that the pain may knock me right out. I was already teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. I staggered to my feet and the world gave a dangerous spin. My vectors flung themselves on the ground and fought to keep me on my feet. If I wasn't a genetic anomaly with the ability to use these powers through pain, I would have died twice over by now.

I half-dragged myself around the back of my former home and made my way back into the Forest of the Damned. Tony Mordare, Sarah Mordare, Theresa Mordare, and Michael Mordare were all amongst the dead. The only person left was Samael, the angel of massacre.

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End Chapter Six: Amongst the Dead

This was a difficult chapter to write, that's for sure. I know I shouldn't write really large chapters, and I'm hoping that this is the last one. This thing is about twice as long as a regular chapter! Thank God it's out of the way so I can get into the real meat of the story. I suppose you can consider everything so far to be something of a detailed flashback.

The next chapter will be a special bonus chapter for everyone and it will introduce the other faction to this war. Just who is this mysterious Noah character, the man who ordered the death of an entire family? What are his goals and what will he do to reach them? This is a man without any sense of remorse, the most dangerous of them all. I plan on answering as many questions as I can in the next chapter, as well as add in a fantastic twist to this whole thing. You won't know what hit you until you read every last line.

Next Chapter: Revelations


	7. Revelations

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied nor am I making any money off of this. And isn't that a shame.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: "This one," said Metatron, addressing Moses, "is Samael, who takes the soul away from man." "Whither goes he now?" asked Moses, and Metatron replied, "To fetch the soul of Job the pious." Thereupon Moses prayed to God in these words, "O may it be Thy will, my God and the God of my fathers, not to let me fall into the hands of this angel."

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Seven: Revelations_

It occurred in the Darkness, as these kinds of things normally do. Light exposes evil and thus evil seeks darkness. The deeper the dark, the more evil can roam. The worst of evils happen where the light cannot illuminate. And because of this, it is no wonder matter why it occurred far beneath the earth's surface, beyond the reach of the sun's rays.

There are diclonii facilities all over the world. The very first one was built in the Pacific Ocean just off the east coast of Japan. It was built in Japan because that is where the first diclonius appeared. Perhaps it was built especially for her, the queen diclonius. Nobody knows because that facility sunk beneath the ocean when she rampaged freely. What is known is that there are more facilities with different purposes. A facility exists to study the diclonii vectors. Another studies a diclonii's psyche. Yet another facility explores the diclonii's biology. Many more are merely holding facilities that cage the majority of the diclonii population, and if the need for room rises, serve the role as an execution site for needless mutants.

The first facility built in the United States was authorized by the Bush administration. It is located off the shore of Cuba, yet still in the United States. This facility studies the diclonii psyche and how diclonii react to their environment and persecution. It was this facility that discovered that diclonii first release their vectors after a high level of stress is introduced. This is called the "trigger point" or as the militia calls it, the "oh-fuck-me point." This is probably because those are the famous last words of anyone and everyone standing within proximity when the trigger point is reached.

The Director and board of this facility is top secret information. Only a few names are known and only those whose names are mentioned are important to this tome.

"Gentlemen, I appreciate you coming together for this critical meeting."

The meeting was held in the subbasement of the facility, a place so full of Darkness. A place where evil thrives and flourishes. The subterranean facility is located two kilometers deep. There is only one elevator shaft that leads to the main cellar. This means that if the elevator is deactivated or destroyed, there is no hope for escape. It is for this very reason that the shaft has powerful explosive charges imbedded inside it. In the case of a diclonius escape, the very first priority is the destruction of the only escape route. If one diclonius manages to run loose, all of the people in the facility will be doomed. This is the danger that all of the employees face whenever they ride the five-minute drop. To this day, however, there have been no attempted escapes.

A large, spacious room held the critical meeting. No taxpayer's expenses were spared in furnishing this area. An impressive, Mayfair veneer modular table is the centerpiece of the meeting room. It has a hardened glass top and gilded mahogany wood. It's actually four tables arranged so that they meet in a large hollow rectangle. In the space between the tables lies a holographic projector, state of the art technology. Today, the projector is running hot. Images fill the air with sharp HD detail. Unfortunately, sharp detail is exactly what isn't desired. The pictures show the events of the previous night's massacre, taken by recaptured technological battle-helmets. High-definition picture after high-definition picture appeared from a first-person view. It was like a train wreck, you simply can't look away.

The NETBAT tactical helmets were installed with cameras that take pictures in real-time and save them onto tiny 2GB hard drives. The pictures could actually be uploaded just by electronically accessing the helmet. Still, the helmets aren't cheap and there are strict orders to collect any lost helmets. This is made easier as the helmets are also installed with a GPS tracking chip connected to a privately owned FALCONEYE-011 satellite.

There were eighteen people sitting around the remarkable table and not one of them looked remotely happy. A tall built man with broad shoulders stood before the rest of the conference. He looked younger than most of the people, probably in his mid-thirties. His clean-shaven, pointed chin was set firmly into a professional frown. There was not a single strand of gray hair on his head. Instead, his hair was chestnut brown and trimmed into a neat and tidy business cut. Narrow eyes the dark color of the midnight sky scythed through the enraptured crowd. At a microscopic level, he may be enjoying this. He spoke with a clear, morose voice that punctured the heavy silence like a 14mm bullet.

"We have a crisis on our hands."

A low murmur swept rose from the people, bits and pieces becoming clear now and again.

"When does Noah ever have good news? He's like the prophet of doom."

"There was that one time he thought he was dying…" There was low laughter from the other man. Then an elder man with white hair sitting at the head of the conference table silenced him with a piercing glare.

"Be quiet! This is absolutely no time for childish behavior Mr. Mulligan and Mr. Evans. Please continue Noah."

Noah Brimstrome allowed himself a small, half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Thank you Director. Now, as I was saying."

The images were frozen. The central image was stacked on top of a pyramid of accompanying pictures. It held the clearest image of the diclonius, Michael Mordare. The diclonius was a young boy, age sixteen, born February 18th. He has had by no means a pleasant life, but it is unheard of for a diclonius to go sixteen years without reaching the "trigger point" of stress.

"I'm certain you have already read my report, so I'll simply give you a summary of our current situation."

Noah cleared his throat and spoke to the whole room.

"Mission SIEGE went into operation yesterday afternoon. Agents Raymond Thorn and Chaz Brown entered the Mordare household and searched for Subject D-1, yet they failed to find him. Posted half a block away was an armored vehicle with thirteen fully armed operatives. The two agents interrogated Mr. and Mrs. Mordare before killing them. They achieved their secondary objective, killing the infected parents. Rather unfortunately, it seems as though Subject D-1 was hiding in an attic. This oversight cost Agent Thorn his life. Subject D-1 witnessed his parents' deaths and triggered his powers."

At this point, a number of fuzzy pictures appeared. It appeared that the pictures were taken outside the house and had tried to capture the scene through a large window. The light angle was terrible and it was unclear what was happening. Nobody needed any explanation though, the words "diclonius" and "triggered" were all that was needed.

"The operatives in the van used a parabolic dish to catch these sounds. I should warn you that these aren't going to be easy to stomach."

An audio file appeared and scratchy words and noises played. The sounds were loud thumps and mystical swiping sounds.

"Why did *intelligible* this?" It was the voice of a hysterical boy screaming. "Why *unintelligible* -ill my family! What drove you to slaughter everyone I knew and loved! TELL ME NOW!"

After a silent moment a sudden, loud cracking sound echoed throughout the large room. Then a sickening crunching sound murmured through the speakers and began to escalate into ripping sounds. At the climax a nauseating snap sounded and the room fell silent again. The sounds of retching and vomit splattering made one man cover his ears. Then there was more of the out of control boy screaming.

"Why did you kill my family? Are you acting *unintelligible* someone's orders! Tell me now and I won't drag out your death!"

A deeper voice belonging to Chaz Brown became legible.

"I didn't want to do this. I didn't *unintelligible*you or your family! You gotta- *unintelligible*"

"Oh you didn't want to kill anyone? Does this make *unintelligible* less DEAD? Answer me or you'll lose your other hand!"

"No! It doesn't make them any less dead! I'm sorry! You gotta-"

There was a profound silence.

"You aren't nearly sorry enough *unintelligible* sorry! Stop crying and tell me something useful!"

Noah paused the clip and spoke briefly.

"It was at this point that three operatives exited the van and made their way to the front of the house."

He nodded and continued the disturbing show.

"I'll tell you what you want to know if *unintelligible*."

Outraged screaming pierced the air.

"You think you can bargain with me!"

"My boss! His name! I can tell you his name!"

"My boss's name is Noah-"

The clip dissolved into explosive static and Noah swiftly closed the window. "It was clear that Chaz Brown was preparing to give out a name. My name to be exact. We can't be one hundred percent sure that Subject D-1 didn't get the rest of my name, but it seems unlikely."

"At this point the three soldiers interrupted the conversation and engaged the subject. He killed them and fled into a large forest. The remaining ten operatives chased him for the whole night without rest. When they found him, he killed all but one. In the survivor's detailed report, Sergeant Cole Hunt fought Subject D-1 single-handedly and nearly killed him. Unfortunately, it seems that Subject D-1 has fallen into the blessed fraction of diclonii that can use their vectors even through pain. Cole Hunt still managed to escape with his life and has been treated for severe hand injuries."

Noah exhaled deeply and seemed to deflate. His shoulders sagged and for a moment he looked miserable. Then he straightened his back and spoke with a greater voice.

"Mission SIEGE is a failure. Subject D-1 has managed to survive and escape pursuers and has now been active for twelve hours. However, there is some good news."

A barely coherent, "First time for everything," and the room was silent once more.

"It seems that Subject D-1 now possesses one of our Jericho NETBAT Tactical helmets. One that was formerly assigned to Private Travis Steer. This not only means that we have a GPS signal following wherever he goes, but we can also get real-time pictures of his exact actions, assuming he takes it wherever he goes."

A short man with a salt-pepper mustache leapt to his feet and spoke loudly.

"So what are we waiting for? We must grab this escapee before he reaches a high-populated place like a city!"

Noah sneered at the man cruelly. He gave him a look that said 'don't you think I already know this?'

"It's already too late for that now. It has been twelve hours since operation SIEGE began; our Subject has reached the nearby city of Toledo. It seems that he has somehow acquired money and is now staying at a seedy hotel in downtown Toledo."

A fearful look dawned on the poor man's face and he fell back into his chair, defeated.

"So that's it then, we can't contain an outbreak this enormous from the public. Are we utterly ruined?"

"Don't give up so early, the Subject has yet to go on a killing spree and it seems as though we still have time. The mere fact that he has taken one of our helmets suggests that he has an ulterior motive than just killing humans. Our Jericho NETBAT Tactical helmets have a battery life of seventy-two hours. It has already been twelve hours. We have a little more than two days to recapture our Subject before we lose him entirely."

The Director placed his fingers together and fixated Noah with a stare. "What is it that you suggest we do?" he asked in his gravelly voice. His tone was that of a man ready to do anything.

Noah smirked.

"I believe that I should take this as a mission. I am clearly the most informed about the whole shitty situation. If anyone holds a chance at capturing this elusive diclonius, it would be me."

The Director closed his eyes slowly and buried his face in his hands. He sighed deeply and just sat there, nobody knowing what was going through his mind. At last he lifted his head and rested his chin on his knuckles. He held the same defeated look the short man had a moment ago.

"If nobody has any objections, I will transfer authority and funds directly to you. I am giving you an Alpha priority mission, capture the diclonius Michael Mordare and bring him into the facility."

One man looked as though he were going to say something, but halted. This movement did not escape the gaze of Noah Brimstrome who turned to face the man.

"Oh? Do you have something to say Mr. Fontenot?"

Jeremiah Fontenot was a tall man as well. He was considerably thinner than Noah Brimstrome at the waist and had broader shoulders. This gave him an upside-down triangular shape that was not diminished by his largely pointed features and pronounced cheekbones. His silver hair was swept straight back and combed meticulously each morning. Not a hair was out of place, not a detail was overlooked.

Details are Jeremiah's god and he lives to gather all the details about everyone he can. It is his belief that the best way to combat an enemy was to learn everything about him and turn him against himself. He is a frightful man with an imposing aura. Jeremiah Fontenot is known as a manipulative and conniving man who probably has spies hidden in every closet in America. At the very least, he seems to be able to pick the exact right thing to say with precise intelligence regarding every subject, as though out from thin air.

It's common knowledge that Noah and Jeremiah have an intense rivalry. Their eyes locked over the conference table. Dark blue met misty gray. Finally Jeremiah shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Noah. Then he spoke with a high, deliberate voice.

"I was just thinking that this mission should have been yours to begin with."

Noah's eyes narrowed to slits and he set his chin firmly. Jeremiah saw this as an invitation to explain and continued with his obviously prepared speech.

"This mission should be yours because, in reality, this is your mess to clean up."

He stood up and addressed the entire conference. "Subject D-1 is an experimental subject who has been studied for the last sixteen years. Experiment KINGOFTHEHORNS has been led by Mr. Brimstrome here. In the beginning, this experiment was on the births of diclonius. He wanted to see if we could bring about the birth of a full diclonius, instead of a mere silpelit. The mother, Sarah Mordare, was artificially inseminated with a batch of genetically altered sperm. Each sperm was infected with the diclonius virus. Ordinarily, this would produce a silpelit, but that wasn't the only thing done."

Jeremiah strode around the table until he reached the holographic projector's computer tower. He fished a USB memory stick out of his left pocket and nonchalantly shoved it into a port. He then grabbed the optical mouse and after a series of furious clicks a great number of text files and graphs appeared in the air. Noah appeared to be seething. His hands clenched into fists and then unclenched. Clench and unclench. Clench and unclench.

"It took several months of failures and many "quarantined" mothers before the experiment produced Michael Mordare. He is 100% diclonius, fertile, and even male on top of that. The experiment was a success. At the end he was supposed to have been terminated. A mysterious case of Sudden Infant Death (SID) and the matter would be over. But Noah insisted that this was, a perfect opportunity to study a maturing diclonius in an open environment, to quote Mr. Brimstrome's words exactly."

"Well, things were working fine until nine years ago. Mrs. Mordare nearly had a breakdown due to the high stress of raising a diclonius as a young single mother. It's apparent that she was drinking heavily and tried to strike a seven year old Michael. What isn't apparent is what happened next. Mrs. Mordare had to be treated by a sever arm injury that had all of the appearances of a vector attack. Except that Michael hadn't triggered his powers at that point. The theory we're working with at this time is that his powers were partially triggered and he viciously struck his own mother. Michael's powers went back into a dormant state. But now that the barrier had slipped, he was a ticking time bomb. "

Noah had seemingly calmed himself and was now just glaring poisoned tipped daggers at Jeremiah.

"The situation had become dangerous and it was apparent that action must be taken to prevent a seven year old diclonius from rampaging. Noah took things into his own hand and generously donated twenty-thousand dollars to Mr. Mordare. Michael stabilized and the crisis was averted. At least until the incalculable screw-up today."

The cat was out of the bag. The beans have been spilt. Something or another about a pig in a poke, whatever that means. It all translates to the same thing in the end. Noah's dirty secret was out in the open and Mr. Fontenot could not have looked more pleased. This was probably true in a literal sense as neither Brimstrome nor Fontenot were very expressive with their facial expressions.

The Director studied the data with a grave eye before speaking.

"Come out with it already, are you questioning Noah's leadership?"

Jeremiah gave a short, high pitched laugh, "Oh no, I already said that he was the man for the job. Go right ahead and give him the mission. I could care less. I just did not want him to think he could get away with using illegal experiments to create enhanced virus-infected sperm."

But that was not all he had done. Jeremiah had sown the seeds of doubt and uncertainty among the rest of the board. He struggled to suppress his own devious grin and yet you could still see a slight tugging at the ends of his lips. He has had possession of this damning data for about ten years and has merely been holding it for the exact right moment. This was one step closer to destroying Noah's reputability and then removing him from the board altogether! It was almost perfect when…

"Mr. Fontenot, if I could ask a question?" inquired Noah. His voice was low and unreadable. Jeremiah turned toward him and raised an eyebrow.

"How long have you had this information?"

Jeremiah tensed up, he had not expected this. What could Noah be doing?

"I've had this for a while now I suppose." hastily answered Jeremiah. Noah smirked devilishly.

"According to this text file here," Noah pointed toward an open window, "You've had this information longer than six years, haven't you?"

Jeremiah's eyes widened when he realized where Noah was going with this. "It has been longer than six years, I guess."

"Then I'm not the only one who has been withholding information. You should have reported me the moment I began the experiment! Because of your inaction, you could be considered a co-conspirator! A man who knows his friend has killed someone yet does not notify the authorities can be punished for obstruction of justice. You aren't clean either, you may not have done anything but it is exactly for this reason that you are just as guilty as I am!"

Damn that Noah! Jeremiah clenched his teeth and tried to find a way to turn this back around. This is the equivalent of stabbing someone with a sword who turns around and jumps backwards, impaling you with your own sword. Then Jeremiah relaxed and matched Noah's smirk.

Well played, Mr. Brimstrome, thought Mr. Fontenot.

"That's enough." declared the Director, "Mr. Brimstrome, it's clear that you have been acting behind our backs. If any of this somehow leaked out to the media, we'd have our heads on a pike!"

Suddenly, Noah felt a sudden rush of hatred. A low throb of pain began in just above his left eyebrow. He opened his mouth and pent up words began to spill out.

"Oh get off yourself! If anything we do here somehow leaked to the press we'd be facing the highest punishment! We are treading on grounds that Adolf Hitler himself frolicked. We're trying to commit genocide on a whole new species and so we do the worst experiments on each of them. The only way we can kill each last one is if we can understand all of their strengths and weaknesses. That's why we have countless unspeakable experiments performed on diclonii. That's why we euthanize horned children that aren't even in their double digits of years. That's why we salvage the spines from every corpse of every freak mutant we kill. That's why I did what I did, to further our understanding of this goddamn race! Don't single me out because everything we do here is illegal!"

He just stood there red in the face. His fists were clenched so hard that his nails were leaving crescent moon grooves in his palm. His midnight blue eyes glared at everyone at the Mayfair veneer modular table. This was a side to Noah that has never been seen before. Director Ayerman's eyes were mere burning slits, like dying embers of fury.

A sharp clapping sound broke the silence. Heads turned to face Mr. Fontenot, the source of the clapping. He wore a triumphant smirk and slapped his palms together one last time before pressing his palms together.

"Yes yes, that is exactly true Mr. Brimstrome. What you did was illegal and that makes you no different than anyone else here. But what separates you from us," Fontenot gestured towards the board lazily, "is that every illegal experiment that we do is isolated from the people! We don't run our experiment in broad daylight. You took a huge gamble by allowing an immature diclonii run loose and you lost. It's just like you to play with fire and get all the rest of us burned! This is why it is up to you to fix your own mess."

Noah Brimstrome could feel his supremacy slipping away. It seemed as though everyone at the table was nodding and glaring angrily at him, even though it may have been just four people. The headache in Noah's temple was throbbing like mad by now. Director Ayerman leaned back in his large chair. His face looked like stone weathered by time. He knew he had to cut this off right now before things got any worse.

"Noah Brimstrome, you are hereby charged with this Alpha-priority mission. Use any means at your disposal to recapture Subject D-1 and bring him in for further study. You have the alternate option of killing him and bringing his body. At this point I don't care whatever way. As long as he is not roaming as he pleases, I will be satisfied."

Noah stood there in silence before composing himself.

"Thank you Director, I will succeed on this mission or die trying."

"Yes, that may as well be true."

For a moment, Noah didn't move. Director Ayerman grasped a thick, black cane by its silver gilded handle and forced himself to a standing position. His dark eyes held Noah's blue eyes.

"Anyone with an Alpha-priority or higher mission is granted full authority over our resources. At this point you have my permission on any method you scheme up. But realize that if you somehow fail despite all of our resources, you will be stripped of all rank and authority before you are thrown out of the facility. Of course, considering your extensive knowledge of this place we cannot merely let you go. For you, the only way out is in a coffin."

Noah clenched his chin firmly and held his gaze steady.

"Do I make myself clear, Mr. Brimstrome?"

"Yes, crystal clear."

"Good."

Director Ayerman hobbled around his cane and began to walk toward the only exit. Everyone in the room stood up and followed the director. That is, everyone except Noah Brimstrome and Jeremiah Fontenot. They were alone in the gigantic room at last.

Jeremiah was the first to speak.

"I didn't want to bring this up because I have no completely damning proof, but I want you to hear it yourself." Noah turned his blue eyes towards Jeremiah, who glared right back at him. "Every squad in the anti-diclonius forces is equipped with a small assault weapon (SAW). This is just to try to counter a diclonii's powers. Interestingly enough, the squad that failed mission SIEGE had no SAW. This critical error just happened to befall the squad in charge of capturing the most dangerous specimen. I wonder if I tried hard enough, would I find a fingerprint of yours somewhere I haven't found yet?"

Noah's expression did not betray any fear or worry. He spoke slowly and with deliberation.

"You seem to be implying that I orchestrated SIEGE to fail so I could have a crisis in which to take advantage of. Isn't that a little fucking convoluted?"

Jeremiah shot back, "Didn't Rahm Emanuel say that you never want a serious crisis to go to waste? You're the kind of man who doesn't get out of bed without planning ahead of time which side you'll wake up from. You probably have your entire morning planned before you put your head in your ridiculously expensive pillows."

"If you were half as informed as you seem to be you would already know that I have my ridiculously expensive bed and pillows pressed against a wall so I don't have to choose which side to wake up on. It hurries the morning that much quicker."

And with that snarky remark Noah turned on his heels and strode out of the room. Jeremiah waited until Noah was out of sight to roll his eyes widely. Then he left the room in a similar fashion to Noah.

* * *

End Chapter Seven: Revelations.

This chapter was a tough one to grind out because this is one of the few chapters I hadn't really planned on. I just decided to make it right off the top of my head and so I tried free-writing. I think that this came out pretty good. The chapter eight is a continuation of this chapter and will be published on Memorial Day.

Next Chapter: The Best Laid Plans


	8. The Best Laid Plans

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied nor am I making any money off of this. And isn't that a shame.

Summary: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: You may notice that I'll offhandedly mention the events of Elfen Lied once or twice. Remember that this tome occurs after the manga ends so whatever happened then is history today. There won't be any cross-over with the established series so you don't have to worry your little heads off. Let Michael take 'em off for you.

Tee hee.

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter eight: The Best Laid Plans_

His name is Chaz Brown. He is the large thug that had accompanied the late Raymond Thorn during the beginning stages of Mission SIEGE. Just before he was going to give out Noah Brimstrome's name, he was rescued. Unfortunately, he lost both hands in his encounter with Subject D-1. He was transported via an armored car to the drop zone. While en route he was given advanced medical treatment and his life was spared. Now he is waiting in the facility for mechanical prosthetics to replace his lost hands.

Technology for replacing lost body parts is in its early stages. It is highly unwieldy and clumsy at this point. Not to mention extremely expensive. With this technology many body parts can be replaced with robotic counterparts. The cyborg parts are wired to the body's nervous system and monitors for electrical signals that the brain is trying to send to the missing organ. The biggest disadvantage of this technology is that the cyborg parts often break down from overuse. There are a few cases of successfully fusing humans who are invalids with robotic parts. One of them happened in Japan and involves replacing a man's eyes and right arm.

Chaz was sitting silently in the infirmary. His broad back was slumped in depression. He couldn't stop staring at the bandaged stubs where his flesh and bone hands used to be. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in frustration. But then he realized that he couldn't clench his fists, they simply were not there. This drove him into deeper depression and he slowly spiraled down into darkness.

Suddenly the infirmary door slid open. The door itself disappeared into the wall and revealed a tall, brutish man with a foul snarl. The man was wearing a combat uniform. His dark brown hair was cut to military length. His brown eyes had heavy bags the color of a bruise. He didn't look like he had gotten any sleep since the previous night.

As soon as his eyes landed on Chaz, the man stopped and looked like he was trying to suppress a scowl. Brown lifted his head warily and met the man's stare.

The man spoke "You're Chaz Brown, am I right?"

Chaz mumbled "Yeah, I am."

"My name is Cole Hunt, I am- was the leader of the anti-diclonius squad from the previous night. That is before that _motha fucka_ killed every last soldier under me!" For a moment Cole's face flushed an angry red color. Then he recomposed himself and spoke "I need you to come with me."

Cole Hunt turned on his heel and began to walk the same way he had come in. Chaz stood up quickly and followed right behind the former squad leader. As he walked he tucked the bandaged stumps under his armpits. He felt irrational shame for his injuries. It was an odd sight, watching a very large man follow a shorter man meekly. Chaz Brown stood a full head taller than Cole Hunt. After a moment of walking Cole began to talk again.

"I was the only survivor last night, excluding you of course. Me an' my squad were in a huge-ass forest for hours and hours searching for that slimy bastard. In the dead of night he got the jump on us and killed all of the men I have been working with for years. I hate that fucking bastard so much. I knew each and every one of those men personally. And now they're gone…"

Again Cole was overwhelmed with anger. He stopped walking and lifted his right hand. To Chaz Brown's horror, he saw that Cole's right hand appeared to be a mish-mash of metal plates and sutures. Flesh had been peeled away and was now held together with metal. There even appeared to be cold metal beneath the skin, bonded directly to bone. Cole saw Chaz staring and chuckled grimly. "I myself didn't get away without a scratch."

And then they began to walk again in silence. Chaz followed Cole through many hallways and past many rooms. He had the vague sense of descending and realized that he was being led further and further down into the facility. He quickened his pace and walked right behind Cole.

"Hey, are we almost there? I don't think this is the way to the hand-replacement room or whatever it is you're taking me."

Cole glanced back and gave Chaz a reassuring smile. "Don't worry; I know exactly where you're going." Then he kept on walking. Chaz felt a little better but there was still gnawing concern in his stomach. "Surely this must be the way," thought Chaz, "this is experimental stuff so they have to keep it locked away!"

He was so deep in self-assurance that he nearly collided with Cole. He had stopped in front of a huge metal door so large that an Abraham tank could have driven on through with room to spare. Before Cole was an electronic access panel with a ruby-colored eye. Cole bent down and held his right eye before the mechanical eye. At the same time he lifted his left hand and placed it palms flat against a hand-scanning machine. Two seconds later the sounds of heavy metal grinding and clunking filled the large hallway.

The gigantic metal door began to open horizontally. Immediately after the first door was another identical door that slid open as well. Chaz noted that the metal doors didn't fully retract into the walls. They must have been just too big, Chaz thought absentmindedly. Beyond the twin doors lay long stretch of darkness. It was impossible to tell just how large this room was, but to Chaz it appeared as though it were stretching forever. He felt oddly claustrophobic even though it was a wide open space. Cole indicated towards the room and Chaz shuffled his feet forward.

Suddenly Cole spoke, "There are two things I hate in this world. One is that fucking diclonius that killed all my squad-mates. But there is something I hate more." Chaz turned to face Cole, but only saw the sudden blur of metal. Cole's right fist swung backwards and impacted Chaz's face hard enough to break his teeth and nose. Blood spurted out of both as Chaz reeled backwards. With a guttural cry the enormous man fell onto the floor. He seemed to struggle to lift himself up but without his hands he just couldn't do it. Cole wasn't going to let him do it anyways. The former squad leader lifted his heavy combat boot and brought it down on Chaz's head. The sound of his skull cracking against the floor echoed in the darkness. Chaz was still conscious, but he couldn't move.

"I hate traitors more than anything else in the whole goddamn world!" snarled Cole Hunt.

With his left hand he upholstered a 50 caliber pistol. He held the pistol in front of Chaz's face and continued his tirade. "Its goddamn traitors like you that fuck everything up! You were about to give up our boss's name just to save your own worthless life. You people make me sick to my fucking stomach; I want to puke all over your disgusting face!"

Chaz tried to squirm away but Cole's combat boot pinned him face down. "Grovel on the floor like a pathetic crippled mongrel. That's all you are, a mongrel without any value whatsoever!" Cole spat furiously. Chaz tried to speak but the words were barely coherent. _"He may have a gotten a concussion,"_ thought Cole, _"and it just so happens I have an instant cure for concussions!"_

"It-it wasn't ma fault you-your guys did-died." groaned Chaz. Cole kneeled down and lifted Chaz's face off the ground by his hair. Blood flowed freely from his face and puddle onto the floor. His eyes rolled drunkenly.

"You and I don't know that. Nothing changes the fact that you are a fucking gutless traitor." hissed Cole vehemently "There isn't any way outta this, you fucked up and now you're dead." He let go of Chaz's hair and let him fall face down on his own blood. He wasn't even going to let Chaz have the dignity of dying while looking upon the face of his executioner. Cole stood up and switched his pistol to his right hand. He held it in one hand then pointed it toward the back of Chaz's head. Chaz began to weep miserably, making the blood bubble around his head. Cole squeezed the trigger and a deafening bang echoed in the darkness. As the thunderous echoes drifted away, the cavernous room fell into equally thunderous silence. Cole stared at the motionless body for a moment longer before fishing out an audio transmitter from his pocket. Cell phones didn't work this far beneath the surface.

Grinning, Cole activated the shortwave transmitter. "Noah, its Cole Hunt. I've done the deed, the rat ain't squeaking no more."

A couple seconds of silence before an answer. "Good."

Cole seemed hesitant before speaking again "Does this mean I'm on the team? I did what you told me to do after all."

"Is the body disposed of properly?"

Cole looked behind him at the body and grimaced. "Ah, just gimme a minute. I led the guy all the way to the incineration and containment room, so he won't be nuthin' but ashes in a minute."

"Perfect, just finish that up and I'll add you to the roster. Welcome aboard Mr. Hunt."

"It wasn't a problem. After you told me what that rat did I was considering doing this anyways. I hate goddamn traitors more than anything."

"That is exactly why I told you what Mr. Brown did in the first place."

For a moment Cole seemed uncertain. He hadn't realized he had been manipulated into murder so easily. "I'm gonna have to be careful around this Brimstrome guy" thought Cole. It didn't matter in the end though. Cole was now part of the anti-diclonius squad that would be in charge of mission OVERTHROWTHEKING. He was going to have a second crack at splitting the head of that murderous diclonius that killed every friend he had.

Now just to finish with the body…

--------

Noah pocketed his own transmitter. He was standing in front of a normal sized metal door when Cole had called. Now with that piece of business taken care of it was time to check up on his ace in the hole. Even though Jeremiah Fontenot was a two parts genius and three parts stuck up, he was right about one thing. Noah Brimstrome never did anything this big without a backup plan. A contingency plan if you will. Noah felt a smirk tugging at the ends of his lips and suppressed it. He reached out and pressed his palm against a scanner. A second later the door slid open and disappeared into the wall with a serpentine hiss. He stepped through the door and it closed noiselessly behind him.

The room he had just entered was a small viewing room with a large one-way window on the far side. The window gave viewers a safe vantage point to the neighboring room. There was already one man inside. The man was speaking into a radio microphone.

"Partner. Partner. Partner. Partner…" he repeated every three seconds in a monotone voice. With every word he spoke a shrill feminine scream of pain and anguish sprang from the adjacent room. The sound of delicate machinery was nearly drowned out by the agonized cries. The man seemed unfazed by the shrieks and just spoke that single word again and again.

Noah approached the man and cleared his throat. The man didn't stop repeating right away but instead pressed a button on the microphone. Then he stood up to his full height, picked up a bottle of water, and lifted it to his lips. Noah saw that his lips were parched. He drank heavily for almost a full minute before expelling a satisfied _Ahh!_ All the while a recorded voice continued repeating the single word, "Partner," over and over. Each time it was accompanied with a fresh pain scream. Then at last he turned to acknowledge Noah's existence.

"What can I do for you Mr. Brimstrome?" the man asked with a heavy Chinese accent. Noah strode past the man and looked down into the bordering room. Bright green lights splayed across his blue eyes. Then he turned to the man and answered.

"I was just checking on my patient Dr. Suchong."

The man, Dr. Suchong, smirked wearily "Subject Amber is strong spirit, it will take long time to break her."

Noah returned his gaze down into the room. The interior was light with bright green lights that casted a soft light every horrific detail. There was a modified operating table in the center of the room. Hanging above the table was a large 42" High-definition 1080p 240Hz LCD TV. The television was playing a disorienting hypnotic video that flashed countless images and numerous subliminal messages. Of course, Noah had written all of the messages himself.

There were seven small robotic arms poised over the table, each one attached with a surgical knife. The knives were dripping with blood. The blood belonged to a nearly naked woman strapped down by steel bands that bound all her limbs and across her chest and pelvis. Each time the word "partner" was spoken the mechanical arms dipped down and pierced the woman's flesh with the knives. Her small mouth opened with a scream of pain and grief. Then the knives would lift back out of her body and wait for the next word. Sweat ran down her body and mixed in with her blood as she panted for air. Tears poured out of her beautiful yellowish-brown eyes. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, which was swept around her head like an angelic halo.

Down came the knives.

She screamed.

Up went the knives.

Noah watched with unsympathetic eyes. She looked like a human being, but two long horns poking out of her skull said otherwise. She wasn't a human, she was a diclonius. Officially, she was Subject S-148, but her name was An-Mei, she had been transported to the American facility from Japan. Upon arriving to the States she was given a new name to fit her. And so An-Mei became Amber. This name was attributed to her blonde hair and amber eyes.

Down came the knives.

Subject S-148 screamed.

Up went the knives.

Yet it wasn't like all diclonius at the facility was treated in this manner. The American diclonius facility branch thought itself much more humane than the Japanese branches and much more so than the Russian. At least here, the diclonii were clothed. This particular specimen (Noah thought of them as specimen, not individuals) was being prepared for the special mission under Noah Brimstrome. She was his ace in the hole, if all else failed he would have her. And if she wasn't needed after all, then she was easily disposed of.

The only problem was that she wasn't broken yet. Despite all the pain she has been put through for the last twelve hours, Amber hasn't broken down. In fact, Dr. Suchong had to replace the knives because her blood was dulling the blades. He wasn't worried that she would die from blood loss, her kind healed unnaturally quickly. And if she did happen to die, there were over a hundred other candidates to choose from. Noah wasn't too picky on which diclonius to send, but he had chosen Amber for a number of reasons. For one thing, her hair was blonde instead of purple or red. This means if she was sent on the field she would easily blend in with the humans. The most important reason was because of her powers. It wasn't that she had incredible powers that would dwarf the powers of Subject D-1. Her powers were in fact nearly perfectly equal to his powers. She had thirteen vectors with a range of 2.3 meters. Each vector was strong enough to render limb from limb as well as deflect mid-low caliber bullets. Fortunately for Noah, she couldn't use her vectors while in excruciating pain. Overall, she was stronger to Subject D-1, but only slightly so.

Noah knows that if an overpowered diclonius were to defeat and kill her objective, she could get loose in the city. But because Amber was only slightly stronger than her objective, which means that she would be most likely too injured to escape. The hypnosis spell that was being etched into her brain from the television set should give Noah complete control over her. Still, this alone left far too much to chance. Noah had to be prepared for anything. It occurred to him that he could just implant bombs inside her body. Planting bombs inside a diclonii's body to ensure obedience has been done before. Yet it seemed too barbaric and there were too many problems associated with bombs. Yes, hypnosis was a much better and cleaner method.

Down came the knives.

Subject S-148 screamed.

Up went the knives.

"_Well, it's mostly cleaner."_ thought Noah Brimstrome. He walked out of the room in silence. The tortured screams followed him until the sound-proof door locked in place. The screams of the diclonius were cut off like a guillotine victim.

Everything was going according to plan.

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End Chapter Eight: The Best Laid Plans

This was so much fun to write. I just couldn't contain myself so I just typed and typed until this baby came out clean. Just don't get used to quick chapter updates like this. I got lucky this time and it may be a long while until the next chapter comes out. Next chapter will return to Samael. How is he adjusting to his new life and what exactly is he planning on doing next?


	9. Control

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied nor am I making any money off of this. And isn't that a shame.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: Many of the names of places and streets that are mentioned in this tome are actual locations. I didn't just put down random names. I researched almost everything before I wrote it down.

**Author's Notes (con)**: I have officially stepped into unknown territory here. I have never had a fanfiction reach its ninth chapter. Can I get a whoo whoo! I guess not…

Read and review!

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Nine: Control_

The wheels of the bus were going 'round and 'round, causing a vibration that felt like a soothing therapeutic massage to my sore spinal column. I think I must have slept for either five minutes or five seconds, I can't tell at this early stage of awakening. I'm a heavy sleeper and proud of it. With enormous effort, I cracked open a twenty pound eyelid and slid my blood-red eyeball from side to side, trying to make sense of the shapes and sounds assaulting my senses. My eye wasn't red because of any problem; it's always been that way. Maybe you already knew that. God I hate the whole waking up part, sleep is preferred.

Up an' at 'em boy, you don't want to miss your stop. Shaddup inner voice monologue. Yadda yadda yadda.

Finally I discerned that I was on a bus. There weren't but two other people on the bus. No wait, make that three. I didn't see that kid on the other side of his mother. So including the driver there were five people on the bus. Personally I would rather there be only two people, me and the driver. I can't drive so he can stay. You three people, get off the bus before I lob off your…

*yawn*

--------

I woke up to a massaging vibration running up and down my back. I think I'm on a bus, but that'll require lifting up a thirty pound eyelid. Oh what the hell, I'll open both my blood-red eyes. Now I can see more than the back of my eyelids. There are only four people on the bus, including me and the driver. The old lady must have gotten off at a stop. Either that or she couldn't stand to be in the presence of a sixteen year old with a lot of blood on his jeans. Maybe she jumped out that window behind where she was sitting. That thought makes me smile.

There was still the young lady and her six-year old brat. The mom was reading a small-print paperback book and the kid was staring at me. I became aware that my jeans had splatters of blood across them. It was probably worse on my short-sleeved shirt but my black jacket covered up my shirt. I stared at him until he caught my gaze. His face went red and he quickly looked down at his shoes. I settled back in my seat and began to fall into sweet unconsciousness.

"Last stop, Downtown Toledo."

Goddamnit, I wanted to sleep some more. Oh well, I guess this is where I want to be anyways. I forced myself to a standing position and started out the door. Almost immediately I whirled around and picked up the high-tech helmet that I had placed under my seat. I don't want to forget my only link to this mysterious Noah figure. With the helmet safely under my arm I strode out into the street. Instantly, the cold weather slapped me awake. Even though I was in a city the streets were nearly barren of life. I felt a sudden tugging at my jacket and I looked down. The kid from the bus stared up at me with his large wondrous eyes.

"Hey mister, did you kill someone?" he asked. I raised an eyebrow in slight surprise. Suddenly his mother swooped in and grabbed his hand away. She looked up at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry, he can be so rude sometimes." she professed contritely, rambling nervously on about violent movies and stuff. I gave her a wiry smile and didn't say anything. It would take a single thought and she would fall onto the street without her head. She dragged the little boy away speedily, leaving me standing alone. Being alone was something I was going to have to get used to. Now that I was being hunted mercilessly by humans I couldn't trust any of my former friends. Humans are all the same, distrusting and persecuting that which is different.

Thinking of my former friends brought up thoughts of school. Was it really that long ago since my life was normal? I went to school, I sat in a classroom, I chatted with friends, and I did my homework (when I felt like it). Suddenly, a strong longing nearly tore open my heart. What would happen if I turned around, jumped onto the next bus, and rode it all the way to school? I would be late I suppose, but maybe nobody would know about what happened. I could sit in class, I could chat with my friends, I could have a life again. For an agonized minute I stood there and battled the rising tide of emotions that threatened to drown me and weather away my resolve. Finally I turned away from the bus stop and began to walk. Just one step in front of the other…

The hatred and loathing I felt towards humans had not disappeared. Rather it seemed to have deepened. I could not be completely overcome with trembling odium every waking moment. The profound abhorrence I felt was merely slumbering beneath my skin. It took some focus to keep it in check. I still need a clear head.

The first thing I needed to do was grab breakfast. My stomach felt nauseous and ached. The mere thought of food sent it tumbling in my abdomen, but I couldn't go any further without nourishment. I turned onto Secor Rd and began to walk. My head turned left and right, trying to find a decent restaurant. Maybe one that was dimly lit, that would be better.

For once my bad luck didn't hold. I located a three star restaurant on Secor Road named _Café Marie Restaurant_. It was casual enough to sit down in. I ordered a huge plate full of pancakes, eggs and sausage, milk and orange juice. Now that I was sitting in a restaurant filled with delicious aromas my stomach began to settle. For the longest time I sat in the dim restaurant with a shriveled stomach aching for food. Just as I began to wonder if I could eat the napkins a waitress arrived with my order. I picked up my utensils with my fingers. My grip slipped and the knife clattered onto the plate. I picked up the knife and tried to pinch the silverware in my fingers. A sharp twinge of pain reminded me that I had mutilated my fingertips. I focused past the pain and began to devour my breakfast platter. I'll admit that the food wasn't that great, but that didn't stop me from wolfing down every last bite. I poured warm maple syrup all over the lukewarm pancakes. My eggs disappeared almost before I realized that they were in my mouth. I alternated drinking from my milk glass and my orange juice glass. Before long my stomach was satisfied entirely and I paid for my meal. I didn't leave a tip.

My spirits were considerably higher than before, despite the growing pains in my arms and fingers. It's a commonly known fact that any heavy object that you must carry will increase in weight but not mass the longer you heft said object around. Genius technology may have crafted this battle helmet, but it was poor design that gave it such weight. I wondered how the soldiers could have stood straight with this thing on. Maybe they had no necks, just muscle that held up their heads. I shrugged and began to walk deeper downtown. I couldn't just keep lugging this helmet around in plain sight. It wasn't conclusive to blending in with the crowd. Not that there was much of a crowd at the moment. I was going to have to buy a backpack.

I inhaled the frigid urban air and set out. I wasn't familiar with the city; all I could hope for was to get lucky. I simply walked up and down many streets and glanced into window stores. I don't know how long I was walking, but it didn't feel like a long time. Soon there were a lot of people on the streets. I had never seen so many people. Countless blank faces marched by, completely heedless of the mutant amongst them. If I had taken off my wig and revealed my nature, they wouldn't have given me a second glance. Despite being surrounded by so many people, I felt lonely.

I decided to take a break from my quest for a backpack. My feet and arms were beginning to ache, so I sat down on a bench, placing the heavy helmet on the seat beside me. Beside the bench was a sculpture of a frog wearing Hawaiian shorts, a tourist brimmed hat, and a ring of flowers around its amphibian neck. It was holding a camera in its webbed fingers and there was a suitcase lying between its legs. I smirked at Tourist Frog. Before Toledo became the Glass City it was called Frog Town. I guess the countless frog statues was a throwback joke to the unflattering name that Toledo had cast off.

After catching my breath I stood up and restarted my search. As it happened, the first street I picked happened to have a sports equipment store. I nearly passed by it when I realized that sports equipment stores must have backpacks! I quickly ducked into the alleyway between the sports store and a Chinese restaurant. I searched around and found a small cardboard box, which I stashed my stolen high-tech helmet. I didn't want to bring the thing inside. Satisfied that the helmet wasn't going to be stolen in the two minutes I would be gone, I walked around the corner and then into the store.

I pushed open the glass door and felt a warm rush of heated air. The store was pretty small, so I was able to find what I was looking for instantly. I strode straight up to the backpacks that lined the wall in the back of the store. Numerous backpacks with so many different colors were hung on the wall before me. I figured that I should find one that had broad straps that wouldn't bite into my shoulders. I may need one with a lot of pockets, if I was going to stay on the move. And it had to be black. With those three limitations I was able to narrow my selection down to two backpacks.

"Need any help making a purchase?" spoke a deep voice just behind me. I nearly leapt out of my skin and whirled around. A very portly man with dirty blond hair gave me a queer look. Suddenly I was furious that he had made me jump. A vector slid out of my back and hovered over my shoulder. Just a thought and I could spill his fat out onto the floor. Then I saw a camera in a back corner, above the cashier. The vector retracted itself and I turned back around.

"No, I don't need your help." I said. Finally I just grabbed the cheaper black backpack. It had broad red straps and plenty of pockets. I tore open the backpack and found it to be spacious, aside from the moisture absorbing packaging inside. I couldn't see any reason that this shouldn't be mine. I slung the backpack over my shoulder, walked around the eagerly waiting store owner, and stood at the cash register impatiently. The obese human waddled around the booth and took the backpack out of my hands. He expertly swiped the barcode and the entire backpack, including tax, totaled sixteen-ninety-five. Out of my wallet I fetched a ten, a five, and two ones. I pocketed the nickel of change. My parents' frugality must be genetic.

I exited the store and turned into the alleyway where I had stored my stolen helmet. I unzipped the backpack and threw the moisture absorbing packaging out. Then I picked up the helmet and dropped it into the backpack. I slipped my arms into the broad straps. The weight of the helmet was far less noticeable now. Now that my second matter of business was attended to, I strode out into the street. The next thing I needed was a place to stay. It needed to be cheap as humanly possible. I didn't care if the room was nearly toxic, as long as it was hospitable. It would be helpful if the management didn't ask too many questions. Maybe I could find such a hotel in a place where police rarely ventured. If I had to search in the most dangerous parts of town, then so be it. _"I can protect myself."_ I thought with a grin. So I began to walk downtown.

The day wore on slowly as I walked aimlessly around downtown Toledo. The sky was overcast throughout the entire day. The cold air whipped around my legs as I marched up and down hills and streets. I was completely and hopelessly lost in the maze of roads, sidewalks, and intersections. I didn't even know how to actually look out for a hotel! I may have passed any number of hotels already. I quickly came to the conclusion that alleyways were nearly nonexistent in Downtown Toledo. Buildings were either completely squashed together or spaced far apart. I couldn't tell the position of the sun through the flat, grey sky. It had to be at least midday. I must have been walking for hours. My feet were hot and sore and my throat was getting dry. To sum things up, I was frustrated, tired, and thirsty. I was walking down N Michigan Street and feeling very thirsty. I looked up and saw a Shell gas station on the corner of this street and Monroe. I crossed the intersection and walked into the station. I picked out a cherry Coca-Cola and walked to the register. I found myself behind two black guys that looked to be under their twenties, at least eighteen or nineteen. Despite being obviously underage, the bloke on the left was carrying a case of beer. And by the looks of things, it wasn't no Bud-Lite either. This looked like hard liquor. The cashier must have been their friend because neither of them produced an I.D. They made their purchase, put the case in a brown paper bag, and strode calmly out the door. For some reason I felt compelled to watch them until they walked onto Monroe and out of my sight. Something was bugging me and it wasn't the fact that a couple of underage teenagers were buying beer.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" asked the nefarious teenage cashier. I quickly made my purchase ($1.12) and nearly ran out the door. I immediately found the two African-American guys walking across the Monroe/N Michigan Street intersection, carrying the brown paper bag. The idea that I was missing something crucial taunted me. What could be so important about two young men carrying a case of beer?

Suddenly it hit me! They were walking instead of driving a car! This means their destination must be close by otherwise they wouldn't be carrying a large bag with a case of beer! What if they were walking towards their apartment? An apartment complex that allows underage teens to drink beer would have to be one that doesn't ask a lot of questions! This was something of a stretch of logic, but I didn't have anything else to go by. I pocketed my cherry Coke into my jacket and ran after them. The cross walk stoplight was blinking orange as I ran across the zebra path. The duo was walking on the N Michigan sidewalk when they both disappeared from view. Even though the second walking sign was adamantly glaring DO NOT CROSS, I took a quick glance down the street and ran across anyways. I continued running and felt the heavy backpack slam against my spinal column. The Coke was jostled heavily against my hip again and again. It was going to be a pain opening later. At last I reached the place where I lost sight of the two. To my right was a short alleyway between linen dryer building and a red brick building. There were a couple empty parking spaces and a dumpster in the alleyway. To my relief, the two black guys had stopped down the alleyway and were opening up a pair of beers. To my chagrin, they looked like they were settling in for a drink break. They were laughing and I heard one of them say that he wanted to lighten the load.

I sucked in a breath and began to think to myself. How long was I going to wait for them to get moving again? I couldn't just walk up to them and ask them where they lived. Could I? Then I remembered what I was. I was a diclonius! I didn't have to wait for some stupid humans to finish drinking and follow them like a weakling! Of course that also didn't mean I needed to beat the living crap out of them. That only came if I didn't get the answers that I wanted. I squared my shoulders and sauntered up to them. The two laughing hyenas even notice me until I was standing right in front of them.

"Would either of you know a place where I could get a cheap room? Preferably one where too many questions aren't asked?" I spoke with a commanding tone. Both of the black guys stared at me as though I had sprouted a second head. I intensified my stare into a glare and continued, "I get the feeling that neither of you are of-age to be drinking beer. The fact that you're carrying your beers must mean you don't have that far to walk. Were you planning on carrying a case of beers into a five star hotel smelling like alcohol? Probably not. You were going to a dump of a hotel where nobody cares if you drink 'till you puke! And you only bought one case of beers; maybe you don't have a lot of money? The place you're staying must be cheap as hell, am I right?"

The larger of the two stood up to his full height and glared at me square in the eyes. I had to turn my neck up to keep eye contact. Without looking, he lifted up his bottle of beer and placed it on the lid of the dumpster. His lips were pressed together in an angry fashion. He wasn't just tall, but well built as well. He must have been the one carrying the beers because the smaller guy was scrawny. I wasn't one to make judgments. I kept glaring right back at Shamu, unblinking. Suddenly, he seemed to look a bit fearful. I guess he might have noticed that my irises were the color of blood.

"Well, any of you have anything to tell me?"

The large guy standing on front of me spoke at last. "Fuck off you freak!"

I bared my teeth and felt a bit of the endless anger seep out of control. "That ain't very nice. We don't need to get things bloody. Just tell me if you know of a good spot to spend a few nights!"

The muscular gangster crossed his arms like he was trying out for a job as a bouncer. "No." he said simply. More anger slipped out of control.

"You're lying! I know you are!" I shouted. "Tell me where the place is and I'll let you go!"

Suddenly a higher pitched voice spoke, "Hey Dan, why you picking on the little guy? I got an idea, why not tell him where we live!" It was the skinny guy talking now. I could tell by the slur of his voice that he was drunk. He'd been drinking the entire time that we were glaring. Instantly the big black guy, whose name was apparently Dan, trained his glare on his intoxicated friend.

"Goddammit Jonas! You are a retard when you get drunk!" snarled Dan. Jonas shrunk away from Dan's glare and took another swig of alcohol. I smiled triumphantly.

"There you go. You got an apartment complex where I can get a room. Just tell me where that is already!"

Dan turned to face me again, "This retard here doesn't know what he's talking about. Just fuck off!"

Now I was pissed off! I gritted my teeth and tried to keep my voice below shouting. "You aren't fooling me! Now tell me where-"

Dan cut across my speech, "I don't have to tell you shit."

Then he put both hands on my chest and shoved.

As I was falling backwards, my hands shot out and grabbed Dan's wrists. The combined weight of the backpack and myself pulled Dan off balance. I stepped back and yanked Dan towards me while at the same time grabbing his shirt with my left hand. Surprised at this sudden turn of events, Dan was completely helpless as I used his momentum to swing him against the red brick wall. The sound of his body impacting was satisfying. Dan stepped back and groaned. He was reaching for his face when I grabbed his head from behind and smashed his skull against the brick again. The black guy grunted and wobbled backwards, unsteady on his feet. I was going to smash his head again when I heard the clicking sound. I turned my head towards Jonas and saw that he had pulled out a pistol. He leveled the gun towards my body.

Instantly I grabbed Dan's wrist and twisted it behind his back. He shouted in pain as I pulled him between the gun and my body. The drunken glaze had left Jonas's eyes, the gun was trembling in his hands. Dan began to struggle to get out of my grip. Still holding his wrist against his back, I walked Dan forward towards the dumpster, while keeping him between me and Jonas. When we reached the dumpster, I let go with my right hand and grabbed Dan's abandoned beer bottle by the neck. With a flick of the wrist I shattered the glass bottle against the lip. There was a nice sharp edge remaining on the neck of the bottle, which I whipped around and pressed against Dan's throat. The big guy stopped struggling when he saw the light glinting off the sharp edge. Jonas was shaking uncontrollably in fear. Just for good measure I erected a shield of vectors around Dan and myself. If Jonas accidentally pulled the trigger and they both saw the bullet redirected, I would kill Jonas and interrogate Dan about the hotel. Maybe I would kill Dan and interrogate Jonas. I didn't care, I was getting what I wanted one way or another.

"Well now, this situation has gotten out of your control now, hasn't it?" I hissed in Dan's ear. I leaned my head out and rested my chin on Dan's shoulder. Then I spoke to Jonas, "Aren't you going to pull the trigger? You got a perfect target right here! C'mon, don't you want to save your friend?"

Jonas slowly lowered the gun until it was pointing to the asphalt. He spoke in a fearful voice, "Dude I wasn't going to shoot you. I just wanted you to stop beating Danny! Don't kill him, please!"

Dan was oddly relaxed in my grip. If he struggled, then the sharp edge might draw blood. Even so, he was acting peculiar for someone with a razor's edge pressed against his jugular. I pressed the very tip into Dan's neck, piercing his flesh, and watched in fascination as a small amount of blood ran down the glass edge. He was taking in short breaths.

"Stop it!" screamed Jonas. His eyes were bugging out in terror. I pulled the point out of Dan's neck and pressed the full edge against his throat. I looked at Jonas and felt disgust.

"If you don't have the balls to shoot someone then don't pull out the fucking gun!" I snapped. "Just tell me where the goddamn apartment is!" I choked back a laugh at the sight of his ashen face.

"Fine! Fine, the hotel is on the corner of 10th Street and Jefferson Avenue! Now let Dan go! Please!" cried Jonas shrilly."

"I don't know where that is, just tell me." I said coldly. Jonas pointed down the alleyway, to the north.

"It's a big, tall, red building with cracked windows. There's a Monro Brakes and Tires store right across from it!" stammered Jonas. I could see that he was telling the truth.

But I said anyways, "If I find you you've lied to me. Then you better hope I don't find you. Drop the gun and kick it over to me!"

Jonas immediately complied and kicked the pistol over to my feet. I let the broken bottle neck fall from Dan's throat, put my foot up against his back, and kicked him directly into Jonas. Then I reached down and plucked the pistol off the ground. Upon closer inspection I saw that it was a Glock 19 pistol.

I looked at Jonas and spoke, "This is a Glock 19, right? How much did this thing cost?"

Jonas seemed to be thinking he made a mistake, but replied anyways. "It was almost six hundred dollars to buy that gun."

I read how to disassemble one in a magazine; it was part of an article involving maintenance like lubricating. Easiest part was fingering the magazine button and pulling the clip out of the handle of the gun. I saw a bullet seated on the top. I checked to make sure the gun was unloaded. Jonas never even put a bullet in the chamber. I gripped the slide and eased it back about one-eighth of an inch and thumbed the slide lock down. Then I pushed the entire slide off the receiver. Holding the slide in one hand, I lifted the recoil spring and let it drop. Then I slid the barrel out of the slide and held the magazine, the barrel, and the empty slide in my left hand. My right hand held the empty receiver, which I tossed over to Jonas. As soon as he caught the receiver out of the air, I turned toward the street and threw the three other pieces out onto the road. I saw the barrel roll into the gutters.

And with that I turned to Jonas. "Now you have a nearly six hundred dollar handheld bludgeon. Good day to you gentlemen."

I turned on my heel and strode out onto the street. I deliberately let Jonas and Dan take the more direct route to their apartment. I didn't want to see them again. I turned the corner off N Michigan and onto 10th Street. I strode calmly up the sidewalk until I reached Jefferson Avenue. To my left was a Monro Brakes and Tires sign. I looked around in front of me and across the intersection, but I didn't see a tall, red building. Then I looked at the building that I had been standing beside. Lo and behold, a tall red building was right there. I shook my head in wonderment and walked around to the front entrance. From the front I could see a glass door with spidery cracks all over it. This place was a real dump.

Perfect.

The hatred and rage that was burning had subsided. I felt oddly euphoric, as though the black anger had scoured clean the inside of my soul. I grinned widely and pushed open the cracked door. I found myself walking with a slight skip in my step. I heard a lively beat in my head and nodded my head in rhythm. I snapped my middle finger and thumb together, matching the invisible music. Suddenly the music was gone. I heard a sick rasping sound every time I snapped my finger and thumb together. I looked at my fingers and remembered how I had burned the prints off. Each of the fingers were blackened and wrinkled irreversibly. The only way I would be able to fix that would be to snip off the fingertips and let my healing factor restore the prints. I wasn't going to do that. Even though handling a pencil or pen was going to be really hard now, I would just have to live with the difficulties associated with near-zero finger grips.

My euphoria effectively evaporated. Feeling a tad melancholic, I walked into a darkly lit lobby with cracked floor tiles and peeling wallpaper. The reception desk was protected by a black iron grate. There was nobody behind the desk, although I saw a steaming cup of coffee on the desk beside a cathode tube computer monitor. I heard the whirring of an old hard drive emanating from beneath the desk. Obviously someone had just left the desk unattended.

I sucked in a breath and shouted, "Hey! Isn't anyone here gonna ask me for my money?!"

There was a sudden sharp bang and a load of sailor curses. That seemed to have done the trick. An old man with a terrible comb over made his way over to the desk. He sat down heavily in a folding chair and gave me a furious glare. Despite how much he tried to look angry, I saw the greed in his eyes. Without saying a word he picked up the coffee mug and took a deep chug. Watching the black sludge slide into his mouth made me feel slightly nauseous. I shook my head and spoke again, "I want a cheap room to stay in. The cheapest you got. I don't care about amenities, just cost."

The man with the comb over replied in a raspy voice, "I don't rent out to kids who've ran away from their mommy an' daddy. Go back home and sleep in a real bed. This ain't no place for kiddies."

I wasn't going to tell him that I was an orphan. So instead I pulled out a fifty dollar bill and spoke, "I don't care if you don't care, what can I get for fifty dollars?" The hotel manager broke out wheezing and laughing. I began to feel as though the lobby would be improved with a little blood on the walls. Finally the old man got himself under control and chuckled.

"For fifty dollars I'll let you sleep on the floor of the lobby. Chairs are another five dollars." He said between snorts. I rolled my eyes and suppressed the urge to tear open the iron grate to reach for his neck. I probably wouldn't be able to reach his throat through the rolls of fat anyways. I slapped the grate roughly to recapture his attention.

"What's the cost for the cheapest room you got? I've been walking all day and I don't want to play twenty questions with a dying buzzard!" The hotel manager waved his hands in the air mockingly.

"Woo, acting all scary sure puts me in my place! Why don't I just give you my room for free!" he said before breaking down in laughter again. "Then again, you might get some kind of disease just by entering the room. AHAHAHAHAHA!!" I began to wonder where I'd put that broken bottle neck. I pulled out another fifty and held both of them in front of his face. The manager stopped laughing, but I could still see tears forming in the crows' feet. With a final chuckle he wiped his eyes and got all business-like. "Okay, I can tell you're serious about this. Why don't I fire up this piece of crap computer and see if we got anything in your price range."

He made a show of it; acting like searching the database was all that difficult. Then again, the computer might be really old. What do I know? Two minutes of waiting dragged on like two hours. My shoulders were starting to ache and my feet felt like they were never going to take another step. I hope to God that the elevator works! Finally the buzzard leaned back and started talking.

"I've got an open room on the fifth floor. The elevator doesn't work so you'll have to take the stairs (I groaned inwardly). The rent is about a hundred and seven dollars a month, cash up front. You got that much?"

I nodded then asked, "What about amenities?" The manager gave me a grinning look and I waved a hand in front of his face. He shrugged and spoke.

"Well, looks like it has a bed with a mattress. It also has a blanket. It's got a floor, ceiling, and all four walls. Oh and hey, it even has a window! It won't have much of a view, the next building over is just as tall and there's only a narrow alley between me and them."

"And running water?"

"That's in the bathroom down the hall. You're a boy so I'd recommend standing up to take a piss. I hear that toilet seat is damn near toxic to human flesh."

"I suppose you don't have a shower."

"You got soap on a rope?"

"You serious?!"

"I'm serious about the existence of a shower. About the soap, I've put down some rules for the rest of the trash in this building. Still, you can't be too careful."

I shuddered slightly.

"Heh, you still wanna stay here?"

I nodded firmly.

"Well hand me over the cash and I'll getcha a key. Oh and I'll need you to write down your name. My name's Robert, you can call me any name you want as long as you pay your rent."

"Okay, _Dick_."

Robert chuckled and slid a writing board with a paper and pen. I picked up the pen and pinched it as hard as I could between my fingers. The pen nearly slipped out of my grip but I managed to keep a hold on it. Then I put the pen to the paper and wrote down _Samuel Redrum_. I noticed that there were the names Dan Jhones and Jonas Cooley. Robert picked up the board and the cash before handing me a key. The key had the numbers five-one-one etched into the metal.

"You got a suitcase?" asked Robert. I reached back and patted the backpack. He shrugged before standing up and walking out of sight. He reappeared out of a door. He looked at my jeans, which were stained in blood, and frowned.

"I'm not going to have any trouble with you, right?" asked Robert.

"Nope, I won't cause a problem."

Robert and walked past me, motioning that I should follow him. Through another door I followed him, past an elevator with a large **OUT OF ORDER**, and to a stairwell. Then Robert stood to the side.

"Aren't you going to show me to my room?" I smirked. Robert shook his head and said that he couldn't go up and down the stairs. Excuses about heart conditions and bullshit like that. I was about to head up the stairs when I heard a series of loud bangs echoing down the stairs. Suddenly Dan and Jonas appeared on the stairs in front of me, dragging two suitcases behind them. Dan spotted me first and glared at me with so much hatred. There was a band-aid on his neck, which he tried to hide with his hand. I stepped out of the stairwell and motioned that they should walk past me. A few more bangs down the stairs and they were dragging their suitcases past me. I gave them my best sadistic grin and Jonas visibly trembled at the sight of my white teeth. Robert caught the glares we were exchanging.

"Do you know those two? Danny and Jonny have been here for months and suddenly they just pack up and go." Robert spoke with a suspicious tone. I waved him off and began my trek up the stairs.

My feet were crying in outrage by the time I reached the fifth floor. I opened the door and walked into the shabbiest hallway imaginable. Half of the lights on the ceiling were burned out and there was no carpet on the floor. A few of the doors I walked past were missing number plates, so the numbers were just painted on the door. One such room was Room 511 on the left-hand side. Oddly enough, the next-door room was number 515, instead of 513. Then I remembered that a lot of hotels avoided rooms numbered 13 because of overly-superstitious people. I slid my key into the slot and opened the door. The room was very small and nearly bare except for a single bed. A blinking lightbulb was screwed into the ceiling, casting sharp shadows onto the wall. True to form, the window at the far wall was cracked. I don't want to know what was causing that smell. I felt something warm and fuzzy brush past my leg and I had to bite my tongue to stop from screaming in surprise. I looked down and sighed in relief.

It was just a rat the size of a newborn baby.

To call this place a dump would be an insult to all the dumps and hobos living in dumpsters, I thought. Finally, I found a suitable place to sleep, and not a moment too soon. I shrugged the backpack off my shoulders and flung it into a corner. I turned to deposit my weary body onto the mattress (I was afraid to examine the sheets lest what I would find) but stopped. Lying across the bed was none other than the Boy from the Theater. I let loose an explosive sigh and the Boy chuckled darkly.

"_**Qui**__t__**e **__**a**__** da**__y y__**o**__u'__**ve **__**b**__e__**e**__n ha__**vin**__g. __**I**__'v__**e **__**be**__e__**n**__ w__**at**__c__**hi**__n__**g**__ y__**ou**__ a__**n**__d __**I**__** hav**__e __**t**__o s__**ay**__, I__**'m **__**im**__pr__**ess**__e__**d**__ o__**n**__** h**__o__**w**__** yo**__u d__**e**__a__**lt**__ w__**it**__h t__**ho**__s__**e**__** hu**__ma__**ns**__.__**"**_

Suddenly the Boy was standing nearly nose-to-nose with me. His azure eyes were staring directly into my scarlet eyes. I started walking towards the bed and the Boy stepped aside. I dropped unceremoniously onto the bed without moving the sheets aside. My left hand reached up and pulled the chestnut wig off my head, revealing my horns for the first time today. A wraith-like hand slipped out of my back and slid the chain lock in place.

"_**Y**__o__**u **__**c**__a__**n**__'t __**av**__o__**i**__d k__**illi**__n__**g**__ h__**u**__m__**an**__s __**for**__ev__**e**__r__**.**__** It**__'s __**i**__n __**y**__o__**ur**__** blood."**_

I put my face down in the mattress, trying not to inhale through my nose. I didn't really want to put my head on the pillow. My voice was muffled as I replied, "I'm not avoiding killing humans. I just don't want to cause a police investigation this early into my new life. Would you leave me alone now?"

The apparition chuckled sinisterly. I knew he was gone. I turned my head and looked at the backpack. Inside that backpack was the key to all my answers. I just had to knock on enough doors. And if by some chance I was attacked again like last night, then I could keep one enemy alive and torture him for answers. I would get what I want, and nothing was going to stop me! My eyelids were so heavy that I stopped holding them up. I fell asleep the second the lids closed.

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End Chapter Nine: Control

I would just like to shout out my thanks for the Google Maps team. You guys just about saved my story. Even though I live in Toledo I don't know a goddamn thing about the city. But with Google Maps, I was able to take a 3D tour of the entire city until I found appropriate locations for the story. If anyone from Google Maps is reading this, then review the story and I'll reply with hugs and kisses. Unless you're a guy. Then it's just manly handshakes and grunting nods of acknowledgement.


	10. Warning Signs

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, Samael and all of the characters appearing in this original tome belong to yours truly. If you want to borrow Samael, then you must ask for permission and let me review the story before you post it.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: Things are falling into place one by one. The stage has been set and the characters are in play. Watch carefully as the entire world may be in the ethereal hands of a broken boy. Don't underestimate just how dangerous a single loose diclonius is to the entire world. Once the Vector Virus is unleashed, nothing can stop it.

**Author's Notes **(**con**): I know last chapter I went crazy overboard with details about the city of Toledo. I've decided that if I have to use Google Maps to find the perfect setting on the exact street and intersection, then this story will never get finished. So now I will just include Toledo landmarks and well known buildings. And maybe the occasional street name and intersection.

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Ten: Warning Signs_

The Darkness stroked my cheeks gently, as though it were brushing away a speck of impurity. I struggled to open my eyes but the Darkness said shush, sleep a while longer. The world outside is cold and harsh; don't be so eager to step out into a blizzard. I murmured my protests but Sarah Mordare put both of her hands on my shoulders and whispered loving nothings. I let myself be lowered back into the soft comforter and felt her slender hands pull the sheets over my neck. I wiggled my butt deeper into the mattress and grinned wildly. I don't feel sleepy Mother, can't I stay up a while longer? Mom smiled tenderly and kissed my cheeks. Pixie dust must have been resting on her lips because I felt all of the boundless energy slip out of my body. I love you, Mom said, and I repeated her words. How full is your love cup? asked Mom. I spread my arms out wide and exclaimed, this much! Mom slipped into my outstretched arms and pulled me into a hug. I wrapped my arms around her slender waist and squeezed. Finally we separated and Mom walked out of my life.

My blood-red eyes opened. My heart ached with longing and tears gently slid down my wet cheeks. I sucked in a shaky breath and tried to recapture the loving feeling I had felt in my dream. I tried to cling onto the dream with all of my will, but I might as well have been trying to grab water. Soon I couldn't remember what was making me feel so empty inside. I choked back sobs. The bridge to the Garden of Eden had been burned. God damn the man who has torn me from my home, from my family, from my life. The endless pit in my heart refilled with black hatred.

I angrily flung my body off the bed and stood trembling in rage. I struggled to put a cap on the endless loathing pouring out. I don't know how long it took before I felt a pain in my palms. I had been gripping my fists together so tightly that my nails had broken skin. I couldn't just stand here waiting for something to happen. I had to walk this anger off. Twisting my head around, I spotted the chestnut wig I had discarded last night. I summoned it to my hand and pulled it over my horns. Finally I lifted the key off the floor and stuffed it in my jeans pocket. I thought about taking the backpack with me, but then decided against it. I grabbed the doorknob and flung open the rundown door. Almost instantly the chain-lock snapped taunt. I slammed the door shut. I had almost broken the lock in anger. I breathed deeply and calmed myself down. Then I slid the chain-lock out of the slot and exited the smelly room. After using the key to lock the door, I made my way down the end of the hardly-lit hallway and then further down the concrete stairwell.

The anger had been banished for the time being, but I still had energy to walk off. I stormed past the out-of-service elevator and into the decrepit lobby. I was reaching for the door handle leading outside when I heard a loud voice call after me.

"Oy! Where do you think you're going!" shouted Robert, the hotel manager. I turned around and observed that Robert was surprisingly active this early in the morning.

"What's it your business where I'm going?" I snapped.

"You aren't allowed to take hotel property off my property, didn't I tell you this yesterday?"

"What are you talking about?!"

"I'm talking about the apartment key, of course!"

I lifted an eyebrow and walked up to desk, which was protected behind a black iron gate. Robert held out a wrinkled hand and motioned with his fingers. I reluctantly fished my key out of my pocket and deposited it into Rob's awaiting hand. His aged fingers closed over the key and he dropped it somewhere out of sight.

"Is there any particular reason why I can't take the key with me?" I asked.

Robert chuckled and replied, "I've got a lot of reasons. First off, a lot of the people in this fine hotel lose their keys when they go on their beer binges. I don't like making spares, it costs too much. Second reason is because I don't want anyone making copies of their keys so they can bring in a lot of uninvited friends for free! And finally, I want to keep an eye on who's coming in and out."

Rob ticked off the reasons with his fingers and held up three. I nodded in understanding before strolling out the door. All of the sudden I knew something was wrong. The sun was way too high in the sky for it to be morning. Just how long did I sleep? Judging from how the sun was beating straight down, it had to be in the afternoon or maybe even past that. I guess now I know the reason Robert was so active. I decided to find a map of the city. I started to walk away from the hotel when I realized that I didn't even know the name of the place. I turned around and glanced up at the building.

Hotel Carter, that makes things much clearer.

I smirked and began to walk down 10th Street. I guess I should grab breakfast, or whatever is being served at this time. Unlike yesterday, the streets were crowded with so many people that bumping shoulders was nearly unavoidable. Even though I'm above-average height for my age, I couldn't see over the crowd. I walked amongst a never-ending stream of humans. None of them knew of the danger strolling beside them. If I wanted to, I could dismember every human within three meters. All in good time, I thought.

My stomach ached in hunger so I turned into a random Thai restaurant. I took a menu, glanced at the prices, and chose some Chicken Lo Mein noodles. The Asian woman at the nodded and began to bark orders in her native language. An absolutely intoxicating aroma filled the air and made me feel lightheaded. I sat down in a chair with my nose pointed to the ceiling. I decided to order a drink and bought a can of Dr. Pepper. I was sipping the soda when the same Asian woman strode out of the kitchen and placed before me a bowl of thick noodles, slices of chicken, bean sprouts, and some other things I didn't know. I nodded at her and began to eat.

A few minutes later I exited the restaurant feeling warm and content. I guess that walk really did help me. Still, I needed to learn the streets if I was going to live in this city. I began walking again. The day was wearing by as I took in the sights. I looked at street names and made my own landmarks. I passed under an over bridge that once led to the old COSI science building. I remember going there when Mom and Dad had memberships. It was always exciting looking at all of the awesome exhibits. My favorite was an old tornado machine. I always got irritated when someone put their hands through the miniature tornado. I was convinced that the tornado would stay in the middle of the machine forever if nobody touched it. I felt sadness as nostalgic memories threatened to sweep me away. The old building was vacant now. I felt a strange sort of kinship to the empty structure that once held so many sweet memories.

I sighed deeply and continued onward through the hordes of humans. I happened upon a general store and decided that I could buy a city map in there. At first I thought it was going to be a simple in-and-out buy. I entered through the door and found a city atlas by the magazines. Then something happened to catch my eye. It was the Toledo_ Blade_, Sunday edition. I just stood there blankly, map in hand.

The date… What?...

I grabbed up the newspaper and bought both it and the map. I stepped onto the street and began to run in the direction I _knew_ was Hotel Carter. I guess I must have one amazing sense of direction because it wasn't long until the decaying old hotel appeared. _Is this another ability of a diclonius?_ I thought absentmindedly. I shook the thought from my head and threw open the front door with a great _**BANG**_. I think I added another crack to the glass. I heard sailor curses and Robert walked into view on the other side of the grate. I ran up to him and said breathlessly, "Give me my key, now!"

Robert scowled and waddled off to the side. I stood waiting there panting heavily. Fed up with waiting I slapped the black iron grate and shouted, "Where is my goddamn key!"

Robert called back, "I'm looking, keep your panties on! I know I put it right here…"

I groaned loudly and rolled my eyes in exasperation. Finally I heard a triumphant exclamation and Robert entered my line-of-sight. He held up key 511 and handed it over to me.

"Sorry about the wait. I always put the keys in the same spot, so I don't know why I didn't this time."

I didn't pay him any more attention and tore up the stone cold stairwell. I reached the fifth floor and ran all the way to my apartment. I fumbled with the key lock for a moment before opening the door and closing it behind me. I sat down on the only piece of furniture, the bed. I held the Toledo_ Blade_ in front of my face and stared unbelieving at the picture on the front page.

It was my house. Or to be more accurate, the charred remains and structural skeleton of my house.

The date was set for this Sunday. The paper had been put out today. It was Sunday, not Saturday. I couldn't believe it. I had slept entirely through Saturday and Sunday morning! Something was nagging at the far reaches of my mind. I pushed the nagging feeling aside and started reading. The front page screamed:

_Tragedy in Point Place, Wildfire Burns Down Three Houses_

I sucked in a breath before reading on down. The article started to describe details about a horrible Friday morning that started off with a loud explosion. It mentioned that the first house to go up was the Mordare household. I can't believe that the _Blade_ actually got my last name right. The fire spread to the two houses on both sides and set them ablaze. Fortunately for them, the explosion woke everyone up and there were no casualties. Well, none except for the Mordare family that is. I couldn't believe my eyes. _**Cont**_ in the Obituaries, said the paper. I nearly tore apart the newspaper trying to find the Obituaries. The Sports and the Comics and the Second News were spread across the floor before I managed to pluck out the most depressing part of the paper.

I held the Obituaries in the light and continued reading. There were three faces that I knew the most. There was an article for the three of us altogether:

_The Mordare family died last Friday morning in a terrible fire (See Front Page). Investigations discovered that the fire most likely originated from a broken gas pipe. Their bodies weren't found, but enough skeletal remains were collected to account for all three family members. When asked about the family, a few neighbors were happy to oblige._

"_They were such a sweet family." said Mrs. Feeny. "They had a son who was never seen too often. Some of the neighbors were wondering what they were hiding."_

I gritted my teeth in irritation. Old women spreading barbed gossip, how cliché! I pushed past the red anger and continued reading:

_Tony and Sarah Mordare were living together and supporting their single sixteen year-old child, Michael Mordare. When the story of Michael's death reached his school, the principal called for a moment of silence._

I leaned back and closed my eyes, struggled to smother the intense depression. Then yet again I continued reading:

_The Mordare household had a bad history. For an unknown reason, Tony Mordare left the family a few years after Michael's birth. Sarah had to raise her son as a single mother. Then a few more years later Tony returned and they became a family again. Sarah Mordare was nine months pregnant with their second child when the fire took their lives._

The article ended there. In a blurry black and white photograph were the three faces I knew the most. It was an old photo, but perhaps the only one that actually existed. The three Mordares' were huddled together and smiling widely directly into the camera. Dad was kneeling to my left and I was sitting in Mom's lap. I gingerly reached for the photograph with two fingers and brush Mom and Dad's frozen faces.

I had only used a vector to cut flesh, not paper. I was worried that I would end up shredding the entire paper or accidentally slicing the picture down the middle. Yet I didn't have any scissors and I couldn't wait any longer. An ethereal hand slid over my shoulder and I began to cut the edges of the photograph with the dedication and determination of a surgeon. I was lost in my own cold world, silently working the vector around in a perfect rectangle. Until at last, the most important part of the entire _Blade_ dropped free from its bounds and fell into my hand.

The remaining Obituaries fell out of my hand and fluttered to the dusty floor. I held the only remaining link I had to the Garden of Eden in both hands. I was holding it so gently, like how a young girl would hold a baby sparrow that had fallen out of its nest. Suddenly a dark blotch appeared on the paper. I held the picture away from myself and felt at my face. Uncontrollable tears were streaming down my face. My shoulders were shaking with grief. How long would it take until I won't feel this way anymore? How long would I have to suffer like this?

Finally I forced myself to my feet. I should put this in the backpack, maybe inside the helmet it would be safe? I turned towards the backpack and froze entirely. The black backpack with red straps was open and empty. My right hand held the photograph, so I only clenched my left fist.

Who had done it? Who was fucking stupid enough to steal from me? I knelt down by the backpack and placed my treasured picture in the bottom. Then I leapt to my feet, grabbed up the key, and ran out of the room. Nobody fucks with me and gets away with it! The goddamn trash in this shitty hellhole were going to learn a fucking lesson! That helmet was worth more to me than this building. If I had to tear it down to find it…

I reached the front desk even before I realized that I had run down the stairs. I began to slap the black iron grate until my hand stung. "Robert! Get your wide ass out here now!" I bellowed. Almost instantly the hotel manager appeared before me. His face was slack with shock. "Someone was in my apartment. Someone stole something that was _mine_! I came into this hotel with only the backpack and someone stole everything inside of it!"

Robert regained his senses and scowled angrily. "Why'd you come to me then?"

"My key! You couldn't find it even though you always put it in the same place!"

Robert suddenly began to stutter, "That ain't your key…"

"Who came in today before me? Who knows where you put the keys? When would there be a chance to steal the keys? Who even knew that I was here? Who would steal from a new inmate?" I shot rapid questions at Robert, who was looking more and more flustered. Finally he caved and pulled out a clipboard. He looked at the board and finally spoke.

"That'd be the drug addicts on the fourth floor. They came in shortly before you did. They're the only people who've come in since you've been gone. Their names are Allen and Lonnie. I'm absolutely certain it's them. They've pulled this kind of shit before. They're so hooked on Mary Jane and other shit that they hocked almost everything they've got. When that wasn't enough they got into other people's shit. People complained and I did exactly what I'm going to do to you."

I looked at him inquisitively. Robert smirked and handed me the clipboard through a slot in the black iron grate. I looked at the paper clipped to the board and saw the names, Lonnie McQueeney and Allen Grippo in room 408.

"Now if you want your shits that badly, go get it."

I gave Robert a wide smile. I think I'm starting to like this guy.

"Now remember, I only did this for two reasons. One, to stop your crying…"

The feeling quickly faded.

"…And two, these pieces of trash didn't learn their lesson the first time. I guess hospital food wasn't terrible enough for them to think twice. I think you're capable of nailing the lesson to their skulls. Just don't kill either of 'em. That'd be bad for business."

I turned on my heel and walked back towards the stairwell. I began to take the now-familiar march up the stairs. When I reached the fourth floor I opened the door and stepped into a hallway just as shabby as my own. I strode down the hallway until I reached the targeted door. I knew someone was inside, I could hear some sharp banging sounds on the other side. I lifted my fist and hammered the door as hard as I could.

The banging stopped and two seconds later the door opened part-way. A pale white face with red eyes peered over the chain and looked at me worriedly. His blonde hair looked like it had never been washed. He licked chapped and broken lips and spoke softly.

"Uh hey, ca-can I help yo-"

"Hell yeah you can help me!" I snapped. I decided that this must be Allen. It's a 50/50 chance, right? I don't care if I'm wrong.

Allen flinched back at my words and tried to whisper, but I cut him off again.

"How about you give me back my stuff and I don't put you and Lonnie back in the hospital!"

Allen turned even paler and spoke over his shoulder. "Lonnie (Hey, I'm right!), the Samuel Redrum guy's here. He thinks we stole something from him." Then back to me, "We don't do that anymore. We barely got out of hospital custody last time. I swear, I don't know what you're talking about."

"How did you know my name?" It was a simple question that could be answered without giving himself away. But nonetheless Allen averted his eyes and began to mumble out incoherent excuses. I gave him a scathing look and he downcast his eyes. "Open the door, let me see what you're banging around in there."

Allen panicked and tried to shut the door. I reared back on my left foot and put all of my weight behind my right foot. I kicked the door with my foot and a few vectors just for good measure. The chain snapped and the door was blasted nearly off its hinges. The edge of the door caught Allen in the face and I saw his lips begin to bleed. The apartment was just like mine except it was occupied with another person. He looked like an African-American counter-part to Allen, with puffy broken lips and teary red eyes. Lonnie held a hammer in his right hand and there in his lap was the battle helmet. There were a few new scuff marks on the surface, but other than that it looked alright. Allen reeled backwards and put a hand on his lips, pulling back bloody. I stormed into the room and gave Lonnie my contemptuous glare. He seemed to shrink before me.

Allen's bloody face contorted angrily, "You just don't get it. Fucking rich folk like you must have millions to pay for this kind of helmet. Lonnie and I don't have anything anymore! You know how much dope we could get for this sort of thing? I couldn't just-"

I cut him off for the third time, "I killed the man who owned this helmet and took it off his dead head. Don't think I won't do the same for you too. Just hand it over and you can return to your miserable excuses for lives."

Lonnie and Allen shared a look that I didn't like. Suddenly Lonnie reached behind his back and pulled out a crudely crafted shank. Allen lunged for me and grabbed my wrists. He struggled me around until my exposed back was facing his friend. I heard Lonnie jump to his feet and thrust the shank toward my spine. I twisted my chin over my shoulder at the same time as I lifted my left foot off the ground. As soon as I saw Lonnie and the shank, I executed a snap kick with my left foot out and caught Lonnie's wrist. The shank clattered to the floor as I pulled my foot back. Again my foot shot out with as much force as I could muster and slammed into Lonnie's teeth. I felt the jarring impact in my hips. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, holding his face with both hands and sobbing hysterically. Allen looked shaken and I took advantage of his hesitation. I broke his hold and drove a quick one-two fist combo into his face and abdomen. My fist pulled back bloody and I resisted the sudden urge to lick the blood off my knuckles. Instead I reached down and picked the shank off the floor. I then drove a firm kick in Lonnie's ribs and turned him over on his back. Then I jumped on top of him and straddled his stomach. I used two vectors to force his hands away from his mouth. Lonnie's maw was a mess of blood and broken teeth. I slowly slid the shank into his mouth and held it so that it didn't touch the back of his throat. Lonnie grew very tense under my body and tears were pouring down his inky face. I grinned hideously and looked at Allen who was standing stiffly by the doorway.

"What's going on in that mind of yours, Allen?" I taunted, "Thinking you can save your drug buddy before I give him a Glasgow smile?" I pressed the very tip of the spike against the inside of Lonnie's mouth. Allen took a step back and held one hand to his bleeding mouth.

"You guys don't _fuck_ with me! You wouldn't want this to happen again, would you? From now on, if you see me you turn around and walk the other way. If you see me on the street you will cross the road right at that moment. You don't _fuck_ with me! Consider yourself lucky that I only broke some teeth. You may need to go back to the hospital and get your teeth fixed, but that ain't my problem. You don't speak of what happened today to anyone, not even amongst yourselves! You don't _fuck_ with me and expect to walk away unscathed!"

And with that I pulled the crude pick out of Lonnie's mouth and drove it into the floorboards. I rose to my feet and picked up the battle helmet. Carrying the helmet under my arm I walked passed Allen and out the door, listening to Lonnie's weeping. I didn't feel sorry for what I did, only a deep rumbling anger.

There was only one more matter to deal with.

I had returned the helmet to the backpack and placed my treasure inside the helmet for protection. Then I locked the door behind me and pushed an intangible vector through the door. I used the vector to lift up the chain-lock and slide it into the slot. Nobody else but me could enter without breaking the chain. Then I made my way downstairs to get some answers.

Robert was waiting for me when I arrived at the front desk. He saw the dark look on my face and inquired, "Did you get your stuff back?"

I replied, "Yeah, don't ask any more questions. I've got some questions of my own."

Robert stared at me and shrugged. I pressed on the attack.

"Remember this morning? Back when I was going to leave the hotel with your key?" Robert nodded and listened. "You said that you had already told me this rule yesterday. Do you mean Saturday?"

Robert nodded again and spoke, "Yeah, I told you that rule yesterday."

I don't remember waking up at all between Friday and today. Robert continued talking and things became stranger.

"You were walking all funny, like you had crapped your pants. I guess you looked kind of like a toddler taking his first steps, I was pretty confused. I told you that you couldn't just leave and you mumbled, 'I guess that's for the best.' But it was yesterday alright."

"You sure that was me?" I blurted out.

Robert gave me the strangest look, "Yeah, it was you alright. With the brown hair and the red eyes and those bloody jeans. You sleepwalking or something?" I nodded absentmindedly. Robert threw his hands up into the air. "I guess that makes as much sense as anything else about you."

I shrugged distractedly and made my way to my apartment room. I unlocked the door lock at the same time as the chain lock and stepped into my room. Then I laid my body across the bed sheets, put my hands behind my head, and stared at the bare ceiling. Something was going on. I had never sleepwalked before in my life. Not to mention that I had taken off my wig before I went to sleep Friday. Why did Robert see me five floors down, wearing the brunette wig? I guess it was a good thing that Robert didn't see my horns, but still none of this made any sense!

The day of excitement had taken its toll and I could feel myself drifting off into sleep again. I had no more energy to ask questions I didn't know the answers to. I could faintly hear someone laughing as though from a distance. The Darkness enveloped my body and mind before carrying me into a dreamless slumber.

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End Chapter Ten: Warning Signs

Didn't I warn you that this wasn't going to be pretty? Again and again I deliver the pain. I am just getting warmed up, don't forget that. Things are just getting exciting.

This chapter has everything I could have asked for. I know I said that _Angel of Massacre_ was going on a short-term hiatus, but I couldn't stay away. I just kept writing and writing and writing some more until I found myself with a glorious masterpiece. Plus the ending felt just right. Who can guess what's going on in my head? I certainly can't!

One big reason that _Elfen Lied_ was so popular is because it didn't shrink away from the darker side of humanity. In fact _Elfen Lied_ basically tore down the veil and waltzed into the Darkness, a place where few anime's before it went. It was full of psychological horror, child molestation, animal abuse/killing, and murder. _Angel of Massacre_ will similarly step foot in the Darkness.

Who here feels sorry for Lonnie and Allen? I don't feel sorry for what I've done to them. They're desperate drug addicts that need to get off the street and turn themselves in to get help! They may not reappear in the story for a long while, or maybe not at all. They may go the way of Dan and Jonas, who also don't have any more roles to play.


	11. The Night

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, Samael and all of the characters appearing in this original tome belong to yours truly. If you want to borrow Samael, then you must ask for permission and let me review the story before you post it.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: I have come to discover that even after eleven chapters into the story some people can't get the main character's name right. So here's the rundown.

Michael Mordare: Main character's name. Bing bang boom, that's it. Remember it!

Samael: The Angel of Massacre, basically Michael's new name for himself. Samael is also the proper name for the Grim Reaper, which is where Michael came up with the name.

Samuel Redrum: A pseudonym that Michael made up on the spot. Redrum is _murder_ spelled backwards, a la Stephen King's _Shining_.

Stop calling Michael "Samuel"! It's either Michael or Samael! It's my biggest pet peeve so far! I just get all "Grrr!!" every time I read "Samuel ish sho awethum!!1!" on the reviews. Sorry the **Author's Notes** took up so much space, but I really, really hate it.

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Eleven: The Night_

My eyes opened and I was on my feet in an instant. At first, I didn't know what had waked me up so abruptly. The fine hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. The Darkness was so deep that I couldn't see anything in front of my face. Then I noticed a small sliver of cold blue light off to the side. I made my way to the light. I pressed my palm flat against the cracked window and saw street light reflecting off the white brick walls on the building opposite to Hotel Carter. There was a narrow alleyway between Hotel Carter and the building. I couldn't see the street lamps unless I hung my head out the window, but their cold light was evidence that it was nighttime. Near absolute silence hung in the air. It was occasionally punctured by a passing vehicle. I turned around, walked in the middle of the room, and waved my hand in the air. I encountered the small chain that controlled the light bulb. I pulled the chain and was briefly blinded by harsh white light. A blurry human shape stood in front of the door. I blinked furiously and found the Boy in the Theater standing nearly nose to nose with me.

"Have I mentioned that I hate when you do that?" I said groggily.

"_I__**t**__'__**s **__**t**__i__**me**__.__**"**_

This caught my attention. He didn't sound like anything except dead serious.

"I assume you aren't talking about the time to wake up."

"_**To**__ni__**g**__h__**t**__** yo**__u __**wi**__ll ki__**ll **__**a**__ h__**um**__a__**n**__.__**"**_

My blood ran cold. How many humans have I killed already? Hasn't every human I killed so far been out of self defense? I dropped my head and sighed deeply.

"_**Yo**__u w__**ill**__ n__**o **__**lo**__n__**g**__er h__**ol**__d __**o**__n__**to **__**y**__ou__**r**__** p**__a__**th**__et__**ic**__** s**__h__**r**__e__**ds**__** o**__f __**human**__i__**t**__y. __**Yo**__u __**wi**__ll __**em**__b__**ra**__ce y__**o**__u__**r**__ d__**ic**__lo__**niu**__s i__**ns**__t__**i**__nc__**ts**__ a__**nd**__** kill**__.__**"**_

"So all I have to do to get rid of you is walk down a street and kill a random pedestrian? That sounds easy enough."

"_**N**__o__**. Yo**__u a__**re**__** go**__in__**g**__ t__**o**__ k__**ill**__ a s__**ma**__ll __**g**__ro__**up**__ o__**f**__ h__**u**__m__**an**__** rel**__at__**ive**__s, __**b**__e__**tt**__e__**r**__ k__**n**__o__**w**__n a__**s **__**a**__ f__**am**__i__**ly."**_

I felt like the pit of my stomach had fallen away and my heart had dropped with it. So this was his game, make me inflict the same suffering that I had endured. I felt sick to the bottom of my heart. The Boy began shouting in his strange raspy, throaty voice. At first I was worried that he would wake up the entire complex, but then I remembered that only I heard his manic voice.

"_**Th**__e r__**elu**__c__**t**__a__**nc**__e yo__**u**__ f__**ee**__l is __**exactly**__** wh**__a__**t**__ y__**o**__u m__**ust**__ d__**is**__car__**d**__. __**Why**__ s__**ho**__ul__**d**__** y**__o__**u**__ b__**e**__** res**__tr__**ict**__e__**d**__** by**__ t__**h**__e __**la**__w__**s**__ t__**hat**__** h**__u__**m**__a__**ns **__**erected**__? __**Yo**__u a__**re **__**post**__-h__**um**__a__**n!**__ Y__**ou**__ a__**r**__e d__**ic**__lo__**niu**__s! __**Y**__ou a__**re**__ a __**law**__ u__**nt**__o yo__**ur**__se__**lf!**__ Y__**ou**__ d__**ec**__i__**d**__e __**w**__ho__ l__**iv**__e__**s **__an__**d w**__h__**o dies!**__** Hu**__m__**a**__n__**s ar**__e j__**us**__t o__**ve**__r __**glo**__ri__**fi**__ed a__**pes**__. Y__**ou **__**a**__re __**a**__ mo__**th**__er__**fuckin**__' d__**in**__os__**aur!"**_

The word "dinosaur" was left ringing in my ear. How could that be if he was just a figment of my imagination? Was I just imagining the echo? I remembered the unexplained "sleepwalking" incident on Saturday. Could it be…?

I glared my suspicions at the Boy in the Theater. He merely smirked back as though he were reading my thoughts. Was that possible? I think he exists in my mind, so perhaps he really is hearing my thoughts. I was really starting to hate this apparition. He always appears at random and doesn't have anything nice to say.

"What if I say no?" I asked. "What will you do if I just go back to sleep and ignore you?"

"_Sl__**eep**__ w__**il**__l __**e**__v__**a**__d__**e**__ y__**ou**__** end**__l__**e**__ss__**ly**__ un__**til**__** y**__o__**u**__** acc**__om__**pl**__is__**h**__ y__**o**__u__**r**__** m**__i__**ss**__io__**n**__.__**"**_

"How am I supposed to leave this place? The front doors are locked at night and only Robert has the key. The guy is really paranoid about-"

"_**F**__i__**n**__d a __**w**__a__**y!"**_

I started in surprise at his razor-sharp tone. The barely suppressed excitement sharpened his words like a whetstone would hone a sword's edge.

"_**I**__ d__**on**__'t __**wa**__n__**t**__ e__**xcu**__se__**s**__, __**I**__ w__**an**__t b__**loo**__d__**!**__ I'__**ve**__ w__**ait**__e__**d **__**l**__o__**ng**__ e__**nou**__gh __**to **__**w**__a__**tc**__h __**yo**__u ta__**ke**__ y__**o**__u__**r**__ re__**veng**__e __**o**__n __**h**__u__**man**__ity__**!**__ O__**r **__**di**__d __**y**__o__**u**__ n__**o**__t l__**ove**__ y__**ou**__r __**fa**__m__**i**__ly __**eno**__ug__**h**__ t__**o **__**t**__a__**k**__e __**veng**__e__**an**__c__**e?"**_

I curled my fingers into a tight fist. My upper lips curled into an animalistic snarl. How did he always know the exact words that would anger me? Finally I scooped up the backpack and threw it onto my shoulders. The weight of my retribution struck my back. The pain was welcomed. I purposely left my brunette wig behind. I was going to show my true colors tonight.

"By the way, how long have I been asleep?"

"_S__**ix a**__nd__** a ha**__lf h__**our**__s, __**it**__'s __**ar**__ou__**nd**__** e**__ig__**ht-t**__h__**ir**__t__**y **__**o**__' __**clo**__c__**k**__.__**"**_

How long has it been since my family died? I know that it was in the late-evening when my parents were killed. Then there was that long night where I killed those soldiers. I emerged from the forest on Friday, at twelve o' clock in the morning. Then I explored Toledo until around nine-thirty in the morning, when I came across Hotel Carter and then fell asleep. I slept until Sunday, then found some stuff, and now its Sunday still at 8:30-ish. If I ignore everything else and focus on the time that my new life started until now, it would be around sixty-eight and a half hours. I have been Samael for sixty-eight and one half hours. I guess that's enough time for preparation, it's time to get killing.

I pressed both palms of my hands against the cracked glass window and forced it to slide up the entire way. There wasn't a screen window so I just put my hands on the window sill and hoisted my weight into the window. A cold breeze, funneled through the alleyway, cut across my face and reddened my cheeks. I looked to the sides and found absolutely no handholds. I did see the street lamppost that was casting the yellow light. I looked across the alleyway and saw that the opposite wall was about two and a half meters away. Two people standing shoulder to shoulder would have only a little difficulty. I looked down and saw that the ground looked miles away. I pulled myself back into the room and fought a spell of dizziness. I shook my red capped head and stuck my head outside again. A vector slid itself out of my back and I threw it across the alley. It struck the white wall and I held it against the wall. Then I threw three more vectors against that wall and snaked five more vectors out the window to grip the window sill. Finally I sat my rear on the dusty window sill, letting my feet hang into open air. I shoved off.

I guess my idea worked similarly to how a person can scale a narrow hallway by using their arms and legs to hold them up. I also know that the vectors can hold my weight because they did so when I vaulted a chain-link fence. So it should be entirely possible to descend in this manner. I can't think of a single reason why this shouldn't work

But all that reasoning didn't stop me from dropping straight down.

For one terrifying second, I plummeted towards the ground. Then there was a sudden stop. My heart pounded in my ears. I looked up and saw the spectral arms pulled taunt, suspending my body above the ground. I let two vectors drop off the wall and adhere to the wall again, but beneath my body. I thought that they were doing a pretty good job at holding my body up, so I let more arms lower and slowly began to climb down the alleyway. From a third person view, it would look like an eleven legged giant spider crawling down a wall. I worked up a rhythm at moving my vectors. Finally my feet touched the ground. I looked around to see if anyone had watched my decent. The streets were barren except for a distant figure lurching on the other side of the street. The night was mine.

I pulled the hood of my jacket over my horns and began to walk to the nearest bus stop. I wanted this indecent deed to happen outside the city. It had to happen somewhere that couldn't be traced back to me. Random killings were hardest for the police to track, so I had to focus on keeping off a pattern. A lively beat began to work its way into my step and my mind. Without a conscience thought I started to snap my mutilated fingers in rhythm to the music in my head. The music was tantalizingly familiar.

I located the bus stop on Monroe Street and boarded a TARTA bus, paying a small fare along the way. There were even less people on than the last time I had ridden a bus. There was an acidic stench that seemed universal among late-night bus. I settled in a leather seat free from neighbors and the bus started to roll down Monroe Street. I suppressed the childhood urge to stand up and hold onto the hand-hold rings hanging from the ceiling. Damn those things were tempting!

-------

"Sir, he's on the move." said a technician. He was staring at a blinking red light on a flat-screen monitor. The screen was filled with a satellite map of downtown Toledo. He zoomed in so he could see the street name.

"Subject D-1 has just stepped onto Monroe Street."

Noah Brimstrome power walked over to the technician's post and leaned over his shoulder. His midnight blue eyes stared hungrily at the red light. He felt a great sense of relief wash over him. Noah had been afraid that Michael wouldn't leave the shady hotel before the batteries of the Jericho NETBAT Tactical helmet died. They couldn't stage a strike while he was in the city. That would be far too dangerous in case the police became involved. Now Subject D-1 was finally moving after two days of silence. They didn't know why Subject D-1 waited so long to start moving. _"His diclonius instincts must be raving mad, having gone so long without killing anyone!"_ thought Noah. Of course it was possible that Michael had already committed murder and had just left the helmet behind. But Noah had paid special attention to the Toledo news and there was no reported mysterious murder. Then the light began to blink faster and started to move quickly towards the top of the screen. The technician made panicked motions to zoom out before the red light escaped from sight.

"He's moving up Monroe Street pretty fast. Maybe he's grabbed a taxi or something?"

Noah brushed the question away and said "Keep me posted on every turn and every stop he makes. Give me an update every minute on my pager." The technician nodded and glued his eyes on the screen. Noah spun away and strode over to a telephone. He grabbed the phone and barked complicated orders into it. He was gathering a strike team as fast as possible. Tonight, Noah was in his element. The night belonged to him.

-------

I watched out the window as buildings rolled by as though someone had put the entire city on a track. The buildings became more widely spaced and trees started to increase steadily. The bus stopped at Collingwood Boulevard. A man with tired eyes exited the bus. Then it dropped some more people off North Detroit Avenue, and kept going. How far was this thing going to go? We were passing a darkened street lined with shadowy trees when I decided that I wanted off. The next stop was Upton Avenue, and I was the only one who stepped off the bus.

The cold night air overwhelmed my flimsy jacket. It felt like I had plunged into ice water. I pulled the jacket closer around my frail body and began to walk back towards that intriguing darkened street lined with shadowy trees. I was strolling on the left-hand sidewalk. The street stretched for an eternity into the Darkness of the night. The blackness was periodically punctured by street lamps. Again and again my shadow danced in front of me every time I passed under the harsh bulbs. There was a closed bank on the opposite side of the street, the right-hand side. Finally I turned into the mysteriously exciting street. I looked up and barely made out North Cove Boulevard. The shadows concealed my body as effectively as an invisibility cloak. I didn't feel afraid to pull back the hood and reveal my horns. I began to stroll through the valley of the shadow of death. Many houses were still lit, but even more were dark inside. It was a Sunday night, so the smart students went to bed early. The night was still mine.

The only sounds I could hear were my own footfalls. The silence was slightly unnerving so I let my vectors out. They slid over the concrete sidewalk with a raspy noise. I wondered if anyone would notice a few stones and leaves suddenly moving without a breeze. The Darkness grew deeper and deeper, as though my soul had turned inside-out. I felt oddly at peace in this cold atmosphere surrounded by black trees and dark houses.

Finally I stopped and turned into Glen Street. The trees were dense and the houses were very far apart. It was almost as though nobody had bothered to clear the area of forestry before building houses. The trees seemed to absorb every sound. I couldn't even hear cars as I walked down a winding street. A white single-story house stood out in the darkness. I could see lights on inside the house. There were so many trees and no street lamps. This was the place where I would lose my humanity. My heart felt heavy as I considered the sin I was to commit. Perhaps the Boy was right; maybe I needed to do this to embrace my diclonius nature. Perhaps the Boy was wrong, maybe killing wasn't part of this "initiation" and I was going to kill a family for no reason. But I would give their deaths a reason. They would die so I could become a full diclonius.

I don't know how long I stood in front of the house between three ebony trees. Their tall shadows concealed my presence. I would have to walk in the light but briefly, paint the inside of the house red, then retreat to the embrace of the Darkness. I sucked in a cold breath and exhaled a moist cloud. The last step I took for preparation was to uncap the black hatred I had sealed in my heart. Hatred and rage threatened to pull me into nothingness. I lifted my hands to the sky and let the hatred sweep me away. I curled my fingers into a fist and let it drop to my side. Eleven wraithlike hands appeared around my body and poised for the kill. A sinister smile split my face apart maliciously.

I stepped out from the trees and swaggered up the driveway. The white house had only one story and there was a vast window facing the street. I could make out a vague human shape walking around in front of the window. The shape was silhouetted by unmistakable flickering colors cast by a large television. I didn't see another person, but there probably was another human living there. A bachelor rarely kept such expensive palaces. I walked around a maroon sedan and stepped onto the porch. I lifted my fist and without hesitation rapped my knuckles against the doorframe. A couple seconds passed and the door swung inward to reveal a man in his mid-forties with dark black hair, short beard stubble, and a scruffy moustache. He looked at me with dark eyes for a second and spoke hesitantly.

"Can I help you?"

I smirked and pulled the hood of the jacket back. His eyes lifted off my face and onto my white horns.

"I sincerely doubt it."

Four vectors punched through his chest and abdomen and exited out his back, entrails in hand. The man looked surprised, and then fell limp. I held him up with my power and carried him into the house.

-------

"Target spotted." said a lone soldier. He was kneeling inside a clove of three trees. Their tall shadows compounded with his obsidian armor concealed him perfectly. He whistled quietly as he watched Subject D-1 impale a guy. The diclonius disappeared from view as he walked into the household.

"This is Private First Class Langston Sparks, calling in a successful target lock-on. The bastard just killed a fool and he's entered the house. _Please_ tell me that you guys are on your way!"

The NETBAT helmet was silent for a second before an answer came through. "Yeah, we're heading down Jackson Road as we speak. ETA is seven minutes."

Private Sparks cursed in his microphone and then said "Man, I don't think that whoever's left in that place is gonna last another thirty seconds!"

--------

I walked into the room with a large flat-screen HD television and wide window. The TV was the only source of light. An episode of a show I don't know about was playing. The television was muted; the show's characters were smiling with perfect white teeth and bodies that looked fit for modeling. They looked like silent, living mannequins. The corpse of the poor bloke was dragging along the ground behind me. Blood was pouring out of the holes in his body and staining the carpet red. I looked around deliberately. A doublewide couch was pressed against the wall opposite the TV. There were two plates of lasagna on two folding tables in front of the couch. It smelled astonishingly good. I stepped in front of the HD TV and wafted the aroma in my nose. A feminine voice called out from a room behind me.

"Steve, who was it at the door…?"

I could hear her voice trailing off as she came closer. Must have found the organs and blood I had torn out of Steve's body. A middle-aged woman stepped into the room, the cold light from the television carving dark shadows in her haggard face. She stared unbelieving at Steve's body and then at me. She didn't seem to know that she was standing in her husband's own blood-path. Her small mouth hung open and her eyes were starting to tear up. Finally she dropped to her knees and began to scream loudly. I quickly grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the wall with a single vector. Her scream was cut off. Her eyes went wild, trying to figure out what was happening and what was holding her throat. Watching her suffer was unbearable, so I took two vectors and with a scissor-cutting action I decapitated the widow. Her head spun traced bloody arcs in the air before landing on the ground with a soft thud. The feminine body collapsed to the ground and was still.

--------

"Oh shit! I mean, sir, the son of a bitch just killed the last remaining person in the house. We don't have six more minutes! He got his kill, so he's gonna scram! What should I do?"

Private Sparks sounded frantic to his own ears. He couldn't really see well what had happened, but he could make out a human shape losing its head. The diclonius wasn't going to stick around! They only had this one chance before the stolen helmet's batteries died and they lost him. Finally a stern voice spoke through the built-in headset.

"Private, you need to calm down! Just watch him for now and tell us when he leaves. We'll be there in six minutes! Don't do anything rash!"

Langston burrowed his brow in thought, and then replied. "No can do sir, as soon as Subject D-1 leaves that house he'll be able to escape easily. There are woods all around. I'm gonna engage the target and keep him pinned down for as long as it takes for you guys to get here!"

He cut off the furious protests by switching off the headset. Then he reached around his back and pulled out an M-32 40MM six shot grenade launcher. _"This baby can easily demolish that house. It even has foregrip!"_ thought Langston. He planted a quick kiss on the grenade launcher before he started loading 40MM grenades into it. The night was gonna get a little crazy.

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End Chapter Eleven: The Night

Things are going to get messy! The night is young and innocent blood has been spilt. Will Michael survive the trap laid out before him? Or will he become captured and brought straight to Noah himself? Stay tuned because the shit's about to hit the fan!

Next is Chapter Twelve: The Night Explodes!


	12. The Night Explodes

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, Samael and all of the characters appearing in this original tome belong to yours truly. If you want to borrow Samael, then you must ask for permission and let me review the story before you post it.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: This chapter was originally part of chapter eleven. But I decided that a seven-and-a-half thousand word chapter was too long so I cut it in two pieces. If you think the pacing is a bit off, then that's the reason. I had to rewrite so much of chapter eleven to make it fit in my story that I feel lightheaded.

And yes, that does mean I could have released two chapters at the same time. But I wanted to let chapter eleven collect a review or two first. Complaints go into the goddamn shredder and then the goddamn trash reciprocal. Butler, get me some goddamn warm milk and goddamn cookies! I'm taking a goddamn nap!

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twelve: The Night Explodes!_

I stared mournfully at the two bodies. What was I supposed to feel? Was I supposed to feel happy or excited because I had killed two humans? Or was I supposed to feel misery and depression for that exact same reason. I didn't feel anything. I couldn't feel anything. The stench of blood and death sent my stomach rolling in nausea. The stench of lasagna now made me sick to my stomach. The world bucked and dipped beneath my feet. I gripped my stomach and lurched over to the window. I kicked the plates of lasagna aside before I gripped the window and forced it open, trying to get some fresh air. Sucking in the cold night air cleared my head and vision. That's when I saw him.

A lone soldier decked in black armor was kneeling in front of the driveway of the house. It looked like he was holding a…!

With a wild curse I flung my vectors tightly around my body and jumped away from the window. A second later a grenade detonated against the window and millions of shards of glass exploded into the room. The impact wave carried the razor-sharp blades across the room and straight towards my frail body. I raised my arms and felt a million shards impact my vectors at once. A horrible white and red pain erupted along my body as the vectors fell away. I couldn't even scream as the blast picked up my body and flung it against the ruined TV set. I slumped to the ground in an unshakable daze. I slowly opened my eyes and saw the blood. A lot of blood. All over the place. All over my body.

I closed my eyes again before opening them back up. I tried to make sense of what I saw past the smoke and haze. It looked like a glistening sea of water had spilled in the room. The glimmering glass was the reason for that illusion. My body began to hurt really badly. I tried to lift my body up and managed a sitting position. My head was clearing and I was able to tell that my initial observation of the blood had been mistaken. It wasn't all mine, Steve's body had been torn apart in the blast. But still, there was undoubtedly a load of glass in my body. Every time I tried to move my arms I could feel shards sink deeper into my flesh. I could feel warm blood running down my face from a wide gash over my right eyebrow. I reached up and tried to wipe the blood away from my eyes.

A hollow _punk_ sound broke the silence. _"He fired again!"_ I screamed in my head. Nine vectors wrapped themselves around my body and two vectors grabbed the wide-screen television set. I threw the wide-screen TV in front of my body and, miraculously enough, blocked the second grenade. The television was blasted apart, spilling wreckage and circuitry over my shield. The blast-wave nearly flattened my body to the floor and conscience nearly slipped from my fingers. I couldn't even hear my own breathing. The black almost completely filled my vision and I fought to banish it. I couldn't lie on the ground any longer! The guy was gonna blow me apart!

With Herculean effort I managed to stand up. I swallowed a scream and some blood. My eyes refocused and I could see the soldier through the gaping hole in the wall. He stared at me unbelievingly. I tried to take a step toward him but my right leg collapsed beneath me. I fell to my knee and saw a thousand mile long shard of glass jutting out both sides of my leg. Gallons and gallons of red blood gushed out of the wound and threatened to drown me in a scarlet sea. I gritted my teeth and stared at the shard of glass again. In reality it was just a triangular shard about three inches wide. I think it was stuck about an inch in my leg. There was blood dripping off the glass, but not nearly as bad as my mind had made it out to be. A vector appeared over my shoulder and without hesitation I pulled the shard out of my leg. A fresh spurt of blood followed the white flash of agony. I grabbed hold of the white agony and used it to push me to my feet. The soldier had regained his senses and leveled the grenade launcher. I flung my body to the left, out of the scope of the gaping hole. A third _punk_ sounded and the wall left of the hole exploded inward. Debris and rubble was hurtled towards my body, but my vectors were able to carry me out of the way. I scrambled to my feet when I heard the sound of crunching glass. The soldier had jumped through the hole into the room and was pointing the grenade launcher to my body. He pulled the trigger and I flung my vectors up in an act of desperation. Lady Luck must have been smiling down on me because my vectors slapped the grenade straight up. The ceiling blew apart and a hole leading to the roof appeared. With the remaining vectors I reached up and pulled my body up through the hole in the ceiling.

Cold air whipped at my face as I escaped the smoking house. I saw the soldier run out of the house beneath me and then level the fifth grenade at my body. I hunkered down and prepared for the shot. The black soldier didn't waste any time and launched the grenade at my chest. I sidestepped to the right as soon as I saw his shoulders stiffen. The grenade hurtled past my left shoulder when I used five vectors to grab it out of the air. I knew I couldn't just stop the heavy grenade's momentum without causing it to detonate so I held onto the explosive and swung it around my body. As soon as the heavy grenade circled around my back and passed over my right shoulder, I let go of it and watched it fly straight at the soldier in black. He didn't react in time. The weight of the grenade didn't let it fly straight for long but it still landed on the soldier's feet. A thunderous yellow and white explosion tore up the lawn. I took two steps and jumped off the roof toward the smoking crater. Four vectors caught the earth and carried my over the smoldering depression in the ground. I soon caught sight of the downed soldier. His left arm was twisted at a strange angle behind his back and both of his legs ended in bloody stumps at the ankles. He seemed to be screaming, but I could hardly hear him through his heavy helmet. He was through; no way would he be able to fight back now. I didn't have to kill him right away either. I walked right up to him and planted my right foot on his chest. Two vectors reached down and pulled the helmet off his head. I noted that he was of African heritage. I turned the helmet in the light until I saw L. SPARKS etched into the side.

"So, L. Sparks is your name." I said smoothly. Sparks fell silent except for heavy breathing. He stared at me with fright in his eyes. I was in control of this situation. "You didn't come alone, did you?" I asked. Sparks glared into my red eyes. I leaned my weight onto his chest, lowered my face towards his, and asked again. Sparks kept glaring defiantly. Apparently, asking politely wasn't going anywhere.

I grabbed his right hand and held it in front of his face. Then I gripped his index finger and his middle finger and began to bend them back. Sparks was trembling underneath me, but he still didn't speak. I snapped his fingers at the second knuckle and Sparks let out a choked scream of pain. I let him catch his breath and asked again. He still didn't say a word. This guy had lost both of his feet, had a broken left arm, and now two snapped fingers on his right hand. I felt a little bit of respect towards his determination.

Just a little bit.

I reached down and pinched his left earlobe. Now I asked a different question "How did you guys find me!" Sparks sucked in a breath and I leaned in to listen. Instead he hocked a load of spit onto my cheek. I shouted in disgusted anger as I tore his ear off his head. Finally Sparks howled in fresh pain and began to sob uncontrollably.

"I can't take it! Stop it PLEASE! I came alone! I was just supposed to scout ahead for the rest of my team! No more! I can't take any more pain!" Sparks wept loudly. I grinned as his blood mixed in with his tears.

"They gave a scout this kind of weaponry?"

"I'm an explosives expert. I'm one of the best there is!" He sounded proud. I remembered how my family house went up in flames. I drove a firm kick into Sparks's ribs. I had to ask the important questions before the endorphins dulled his sense of pain.

"Now how did you guys find me?"

Sparks sucked in a shaky breath and tried to speak. He stopped for a second and I stomped my foot on his chest. I don't really think that he felt it through the armor, but it still kept him going.

"It's the helmet! It's the goddamn helmet!" cried Sparks. I couldn't believe my ears. I stepped back and looked at the helmet lying on the ground. The cybernetic eye appeared to be laughing at me. I walked up to Sparks again.

"How are they tracking me through the helmet? Is there a tracking chip or something in it?"

Sparks nodded furiously. I became angry at myself, at Noah, at everyone. "How do I turn it off? Tell me how to stop the helmet from being used to track me!"

"You have to take out the battery. That's the only way! Just turning off the helmet won't work. It'll just go into power-saving mode and still send out the signal!"

"How do I take out the helmet batteries?"

"The battery pack is inside the helmet. You have to have a small screwdriver to take it out but then the power cell will fall out."

I picked up the hated helmet and turned it over so I was looking in the inside of the helmet. I saw a concave rectangular cover with a picture of a circular battery. I reached a vector into the helmet and broke the cover off. A circular lithium battery dropped out of the helmet and into my palm. It was just that easy. I smirked and tucked the helmet under my arm.

"Don't go anywhere; I'm not done with you L. Sparks."

Sparks whimpered in pain from his prone position. He couldn't go anywhere anyways, but I just felt like saying that. I strode into the smoldering house and sent out vectors in all directions. Invisible hands probed through the debris and glass until I found the backpack. It must have fallen off after the first blast. I pulled it out of the rubble. Astonishingly enough the pack was still intact. I unzipped the pack and pulled out T. STEER's helmet. I reached inside and found my treasured family picture undamaged. I sighed in relief and transferred the picture into L. SPARK's helmet. Then I dropped his helmet into the backpack and slung it on my back. I began to walk around the rest of the house until I found a door to a basement level. I pounded my feet down the steps and found a cavernous underground room nearly empty of clutter. It was small enough to find the house's sole hot water boiler, tucked beside the clothes washing machine and dryer. I looked around and found this setting appropriate for my plan.

I ran up to ground level and found Sparks lying right where I had left him. I used some vectors to feel around his armor until I pulled out a satchel with five ball-shaped bombs and a pen-sized detonator. I remember what the bombs looked like from the night my parents were killed. Sparks looked up at my face with fear in his eyes.

"You probably shouldn't have told me you're an explosives expert." I grinned. I grabbed his arms and legs with four vectors and his body and head with two more vectors. With six vectors I bodily lifted Sparks into the air and carried him into the house. I summoned T. STEER's helmet into my hand. Sparks shouted in pain and protest as I walked down the stairs into the basement. I steered him to the laundry machine and dryer. Finally I dropped Sparks to the floor and propped him against the dryer. I took the satchel charge and found a simplistic button on each of the spherical bombs. When I depressed the buttons the bombs started to blink. They were armed and I had the pen-shaped detonator. I tucked the satchel full of charges between the hot water heater and the wall. They wouldn't be able to see the threat from the stairs.

"What are you going to do? Blow me up with the rest of the house?" asked Sparks. He looked resigned to his fate, so I didn't see a problem telling him.

"That's pretty much the plan, but not until your buddies get here."

Sparks stared at me as he spoke. "What makes you think they'll come here?"

"I know they're tracking this helmet, I'll just leave it here and they'll come running. I've deactivated your helmet, so they'll probably assume you're already dead."

"What's stopping me from telling them it's a trap when they arrive?"

"I thought I'd bind and gag you, but then I decided that this works better."

I grabbed Sparks by the jaw and then stuffed a fisted vector down his throat. I felt his jaw dislocate forcefully. I pulled the vector out of his mouth and watched him wither on the floor. I grabbed the pen-shaped detonator and exited the house. Now it was just time to wait. I had time, the night was mine.

As it turned out, I didn't have to wait long.

I heard them before I saw them. A large armored vehicle rolled around from North Cove Boulevard and onto Glen Street. I watched them from my perch high in the trees. I had fashioned a hammock of sorts with my vectors and simply lay between the trees. I rolled the detonator between my finger and thumb as they unloaded from the vehicle about block away. It was pretty interesting watching them run through the trees like a real SWAT team. I couldn't keep track of them all, but I think there were nine or ten of them. The obsidian armor made it hard to distinguish them from shadows. I noted that the armored truck was still running. They were covering one another as they climbed into the house. Any second now…

--------

Langston Sparks watched in horror as silver canisters dropped from the stairs and filled the basement with white smoke. He couldn't move his jaw and he couldn't scream warnings. All of the sudden, he was surrounded by five armored men. One of them flipped up his visor and asked him where the diclonius was. Langston wanted to laugh. They weren't asking about his condition. They didn't care if he died in a pool of his own blood. The first thing they wanted to know is where that goddamn diclonius was.

A loud beeping echoed in the basement. Langston silently said his prayers.

--------

My thumb stayed down on the trigger. I know that there is a short countdown, but it wouldn't be enough time. This was poetic payback for destroying my home. I only regretted that I probably wouldn't be able to do the same to Noah. The Boy in the Theater silently sat on top of a tree branch beside me, an excited spectator. The night was ours.

The single story house exploded with such force that the trees bent back a little ways. The strong blast-wave threw the maroon sedan up into the air where it landed on its top in the middle of the street. Every wall must have been blown outward as the hot water boiler exploded. The roof of the house lifted straight up before falling apart and landing down on the blazing wreckage. I thought I saw the boiler rocket through the roof and disappear into the night. Steve and his wife were cremated, along with Sparks and the rest of his soldier cronies. I heard a shrill squealing and saw the armored truck peel out from its parked position. I guess there had been a driver after all. I decided to follow suit and leave the premises before neighbors came crawling around. I turned to the Boy and asked "Was that enough for you?"

He chuckled darkly, _**"**__T__**hi**__s __**i**__s__**n't**__ n__**ear**__l__**y**__ e__**no**__u__**gh**__. __**It **__**w**__o__**n**__'t b__**e**__** eno**__u__**g**__h un__**til**__** every**__ h__**um**__a__**n**__ i__**s **__**d**__e__**ad**__ a__**nd**__ g__**one**__.__**"**_

I sighed deeply and dropped from my perch. I caught myself with my vectors before I hit the dirt. With my backpack on my shoulder I started walking away from the blazing inferno. I didn't care that I probably started a forest fire. Smoky the goddamn bear can go screw himself.

This night belonged to Samael.

--------

"Mister Brimstrome, we've just lost contact with the strike team. The only survivor was the get-away driver. He says that they're all dead."

Noah crushed his fingers into fists and tried not to shout. It didn't work. "What happened?"

The technician wringed his hands together and tripped over his tongue as he tried to explain "It sounds like Subject D-1 set a trap for the strike team. The scout, Private Sparks jumped the gun and alerted him. The gun-jumper probably died in the explosion."

Noah suddenly went calm. He stood up straighter and even began to smile. "This was a spectacular failure. But it's nothing I haven't planned for. Do we still have the helmet signal?"

"N-no sir, the helmet was destroyed in the explosion too. Subject D-1 used it as bait."

Noah shook his head sadly. "Of course we don't have the signal. That would be too goddamn lucky!" He slammed his fist onto a table. Then Noah murmured more quietly to himself, "I still have back up plans. I've planned this out too carefully to fail now."

The entire room of technicians fell silent except for the whirring of computer hard-drives. Finally Noah soothed himself and walked over to the telephone on the wall. He picked up the receiver and punched in a code. He put the phone to his mouth and began to speak.

"Director Ayerman, I apologize for waking you up. The operation was a failure. No sir, I haven't failed you. I still have more resources at my disposal. It isn't false to say that I've prepared for the possibility that this operation may have failed. Yes, everyone in the strike team died. Wait, the driver of the APC didn't die. No, I won't waste any more manpower on this mission until I am absolutely certain that it will work. Thank you sir for the second chance, I won't fail you. I am aware that my neck is on the line. Good night sir."

Noah gently put the phone on the hook and stormed out of the room. He and Dr. Suchong were going to have a talk on how soon the "contingency plan" could be released. Subject D-1 may have won the night, but there were many more to come. It didn't matter how many times Michael won; Noah only had to win once!

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End Chapter Twelve: The Night Continues

That was one goddamn awesome fight! I couldn't stop typing! It almost became a problem when classes started, but I was finally able to tear my fingers away from the keyboard when the teacher started roll call. Most of my writing is now on my fancy Toshiba laptop, in case you were wondering. The goddamn thing can't hold a connection anywhere except at school. It must be a problem with my wireless router signal.

I'm taking a well deserved vacation.


	13. The Dark Tunnel

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: It has been three days and four nights since the Mordare family was reduced to one. That isn't nearly enough time to even begin to close the hole in Michael's wounded heart. His happiness has been destroyed, only hatred and misery wait in his future. Thus is the cursed fate of the diclonius, ensured by the irrational fear and loathing of humans.

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_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Thirteen: The Dark Tunnel_

I stifled a scream of agony by biting hard down on my finger. Hot water rolled down my bare shoulders and over the puncture wounds. Blood mixed with water pooled at my feet and washed down the drain. Small and large shards of glass threatened to clog the drain. My face reddened with the effort of holding back my screams. I think I cut my own finger with my teeth. With my free hand I rubbed up and down my ribs and torso. I felt a sharp edge knick my fingertip. The glass piece was above my navel. Those ones hurt more than the rest. I scratched at it until the shard eased out enough to grab it with my fingernails. I slid it out of my flesh and more blood began to pour out. I spat out my bloody finger and began to breathe heavily from exertion. I choked back a sob and began to rub my naked body again in search of more embedded glass shards.

I had somehow made my way back to Hotel Carter. I don't remember the details except for an acidic stench. I had managed it up into my room by scaling the walls with my vectors. Unfortunately I couldn't go to sleep with this much broken glass in my skin. I had to stagger down the stairs to make it to the third floor showers. Very fortunately, nobody was there at this late hour. I had the entire shower room to myself, all alone. The place was big enough to hold more than five people comfortably. There were six silver shower heads high on the walls and white tiles on the walls and floors. The floor was split in half down the middle with each half slightly angled downward to let the water go down the drains. I had stripped off my blood encrusted clothes and put them on a high shelf in the locker room.

My head felt light, maybe from blood loss. I was starting to lose faith in my accelerated healing factor. I knew that if I went to bed with all these open wounds, I may catch a nasty virus. I had to wash out the wounds to cleanse them from infection. I had already walked a fine line waiting this long to treat myself. Still, it hurt like hell letting the hot water run over the injuries. I grimaced as a new stab of pain sent the world spinning like a white and red top. I began to worry. Was all this pain caused by an infection? I know that I rarely got sick in the past, so maybe I have a more effective immune system on top of an accelerated healing factor. Just because I got sick in the past doesn't mean I may not have such an immune system. Saying that I can't have such a thing is like saying I don't have a faster healing factor because I still feel pain. Anyways I don't have any proof for a greater immune system, so I shouldn't put any faith on it.

I turned my face into the water flow and probed at the gash above my eye. It stung terribly when I touched it, so I stopped touching it. I walked out of the shower without turning off the shower head. I looked around the small locker room and found a mirror to inspect the wound. I peered at the gash and it looked like the flesh was already working its way back together. If the gash had been much larger, I would have had a flap of skin hanging over my eye. I returned to the showers and began to run my fingers through my hair. Pricks of pain confirmed my fears. I had glass in my hair. These were going to be even more troublesome to remove. Suddenly angry, I tore at my hair vigorously with my fingers. Small glass pieces cut into my already disfigured fingertips until the pain became too great to continue this act of self mutilation. I pulled my hands away from my malformed skull and put them under running water. Now carefully with vectors I worked at my hair again. It felt like someone else was massaging my skull. Bits and pieces of glass fell like rain in the light, exposed only for a glimmering instant before hitting the floor. I don't know how long I stood under the shower head, massaging my pounding head with weapons of mass destruction. It was like making a warhead give you a foot massage, just a bit surreal. I chuckled slightly, then that instant of happiness vanished like a wisp of white sand in a black sandstorm. All I wanted was to feel truly happy again. I don't know how long I could take this underwhelming misery. How long before this under-the-skin melancholy drove me to… something I didn't want to think about.

But then again, why wouldn't I think about suicide? It wasn't like I could ever return to the life I once had. I couldn't bring back the dead. All the future held for me was more misery and more pain. Did I have to face this dreadful future? All I had to do was commit suicide and I would join my loving family in the afterlife. I could escape this cycle of torture; I could finally put away this simmering hatred. I wouldn't have to worry about revenge or killing more innocent humans. A moment of pain, then it would all be over. I closed my eyes and tried to break the cycle of suicidal thoughts.

I walked out of the showers with my eyes closed, feeling my way with my vectors. I reached my pile of clothes and lifted up my shredded jacket. I opened my eyes and reached into a pocket. My fingers wrapped around the smooth surface of an especially large shard of glass. It was a triangular piece about the size of my hand. This shard hadn't touched my body, but got caught in my jacket. If it had, then I may have bled out. I held it gingerly in my left hand before turning it over and pressing the sharpest tip against my right wrist. I held it there and waited. I didn't have to wait long before he appeared.

"_Yo__**u**__** w**__o__**n**__'t __**do**__ i__**t**__.__**"**_

I saw the mummified body of the Boy in the Theater sitting on a bench. His face was no longer covered in bandages. His cerulean eyes and posture looked bored as he gazed at me. He wasn't concerned. Maybe he should be.

"_**I**__** s**__a__**id**__ y__**ou**__ w__**o**__n__**'t**__ d__**o**__** it**__ be__**ca**__u__**s**__e __**y**__ou __**a**__r__**e**__ t__**oo**__ afr__**aid**__ t__**o **__**die."**_

I looked into my own reflection in the glass shard. Were those blood-red eyes of mine filled with fear? I turned the blade over and pressed the edge against my wrist. I glanced back and the Boy looked no less disinterested. He put his chin in an open hand and rested his elbow on his knee. He was waiting for me to throw the glass shard away. Maybe he'll be waiting forever. He seemed to sense my thoughts and changed tactics.

"_Y__**ou**__r __**p**__ar__**en**__ts di__**ed **__**t**__ry__**ing**__ t__**o**__** s**__a__**ve **__**y**__ou__**r **__**life**__. H__**ow**__ d__**i**__sa__**pp**__o__**i**__n__**tin**__g __**wo**__u__**l**__d __**i**__t __**be**__** f**__o__**r **__**the**__m t__**o**__ w__**atc**__h y__**ou**__** kill**__ yo__**urs**__el__**f**__ li__**ke **__**a**__ w__**hi**__mp__**eri**__n__**g**__ pu__**ppy?"**_

I was prepared for this. "How disappointing would it be for them to watch their son become a murderer? That's what I am now! I killed people so now I'm a murderer!" My voice echoed in the empty locker room. The Boy glared at me with my own face and then snorted in disgust.

"_I __**do**__n'__**t**__ n__**ee**__d __**t**__o __**wa**__tc__**h **__**y**__ou __**not**__ ki__**ll **__**y**__ou__**rse**__lf. __**Ge**__t s__**o**__m__**e**__ s__**lee**__p __**w**__h__**e**__n __**yo**__u'__**re**__** fi**__ni__**she**__d be__**ing**__ s__**o**__ go__**dd**__a__**mn**__** emo**__ti__**o**__nal. __**You**__'r__**e**__** cry**__in__**g **__**l**__ik__**e **__**a **__**sl**__e__**e**__p __**de**__pr__**i**__v__**e**__d inf__**ant**__.__**"**_ Then he was gone.

I stood in silence with the razor sharp edge of fate pressed against my wrist. I was going to die; the question was whether it was now or later. Burning tears ran down my cheeks. Five days ago if someone had told me that I was going to be standing naked in an empty locker room arguing with a person who wasn't there about whether or not to kill myself, I would have laughed in his face. How could I stand in front of my parents in the afterlife like this? I hadn't avenged their deaths. I hadn't killed Noah. I wasn't even close to finding him. All I had done with my life was live like a parasite off of my parents and then killed a bunch of people. I could do more now. I could stop Noah from killing more families. I wasn't going to let him win! So what if more humans died, that was a small price to pay if I was going to build a perfect world for diclonius. I am going to be the founding father of a new species! Why am I even considering killing myself? I'm just in a dark tunnel with no light in sight, but I will keep marching over the bodies of Noah's henchmen until I find the light. And if no light awaits me, I will simply _make_ my own light! Things may seem hopeless now, but I can't die until I make Noah feel the same hopelessness that I feel now. I can't die until I make the world safer for diclonius in the future.

I tossed the glass razor into the air and caught it with a single vector. With a grunt I crushed Fate into a fine powder. I let it fall to the ground in a shimmering shower in the light. Nothing was going to stop Samael from reaching his goals.

I turned on my heel and walked to my clothes. I picked them up with my vectors and shook them vigorously. A few more glass pieces fell out and cracked against the floor. I slipped my blood-encrusted clothes over my white skin and to my surprise I felt no pain. I turned to the mirror in the locker room and found that the gash over my eye had nearly sealed itself already. I didn't need to wait for happiness, I would create my own. I still stood in the Darkness of the tunnel, but I could now see the dark tunnel for what it truly was.

An unholy grin split across my face as I exited the locker room. It wasn't until I was lying in my bed and dropping into the sweet embrace of sleep that I remembered that I had forgotten to turn off the shower head.

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End Chapter Thirteen: The Dark Tunnel

Sorry for the short chapter, but there was any real point in making this any longer than it had to be. It looks like Samael is in need of some new threads. I'm a killer for details so I'll probably have to write in a shopping scene next chapter. In case you were wondering, I was listening to the _Elfen Lied_ OST while writing this chapter. I had the song, "_Hakuri"_ on infinite loop, which really helped me set the mood.

This chapter is a great example for the relationship between Michael and the Boy in the Theater. It is somewhat like a loath-hate relationship. How is it that you can't get along with yourself? That's too heavy a question for me to tackle right now. Please read and review.


	14. Statistical Tragedies

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: We enter the next Act and introduce new characters. Noah fights for science and the genocide of all diclonius, Michael fights for himself and the genocide of all humans. Who will fight for the innocents that are being dragged into this bloody and desperate war?

**Author's Notes** (**con**): This is a rewritten version of Chapter 14. The last version had a huge honking mistake that I had somehow looked over. The first version introduces Jessica Hawker as a policewoman. But Jessica Hawker is actually a female homicide detective. So now I have to rewrite quite a bit of this chapter. Here's Chapter 14 v2!

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Fourteen: Statistical Tragedies_

The early morning local television news stations were all reporting the same thing. Jessica only trusted Fox News, but she also wanted to draw information from as many sources as possible. So she flipped to channel thirteen and found ABC's news station. From what she could gather between channel flipping, a humongous fire had been started in a neighborhood just north-west of downtown Toledo. Already the fire had spread to more than seven houses. The surrounding forestry was ablaze and preventing heroic firefighters from reaching the heart of the inferno. There were an unknown number of casualties, but several families had been forced to evacuate their homes. Firefighters were trying everything they could think of to stop the spread, even starting their own controlled fires to stop the flames from spreading further in that direction. Helicopters were trying to fly above the smoke and flames so they could dump tarps full of sand, but the rising heat was preventing them from getting close. Jessica was already pulling her boots on while she kept an eye on the screen. Images of smoke-smeared faces flickered by. The smoke tower was so large that even Jessica could see it if she craned her neck out the window. She made note of the direction she would have to drive to reach the blaze.

She could hardly fathom the current property damage, and it was only climbing higher. Damn, if only the former mayor had actually kept his promise to increase the number of firefighters and policemen! It was a good thing he had already announced that he wasn't going to run again, because this would have killed any chance he would have had of winning. Jessica wasn't some adrenaline junkie or an irritating gawker that only got in the way. The only reason she was going to the fire was because it was her job. No, she wasn't a firefighter. Jessica wasn't fortunate enough to be a news reporter either. Jessica Hawker was a female homicide detective. Her job was to find killers and bring them to justice. And while this wasn't a homicide case, Jessica had a reason to get out of the apartment. Jessica picked up her detective badge off her dresser and slipped it into her wallet.

A handsome golden-haired man walked into the bedroom, "That's one hell of a fire some bastard started. I thought we were going to spend the morning looking at wedding reservations!" He sounded disappointed and stuck out his lower lip in a childish pout. Jessica walked up to him and kissed him full on the lips.

It didn't work. Lucas didn't appear reassured. He fixed her with a sharp eye. "And I still don't get why you have to go. This isn't a homicide case! Why are you volunteering to help the police and fire department when we already had plans this afternoon?"

There was the terrible truth. Jessica _didn't_ have to go. This wasn't an investigation, it was a fire. Jessica hated herself a bit, but the fire wasn't the reason she was going. It wasn't even all the people getting hurt that drove Jessica into the fray. It was something selfish and awful forcing her to run away from her fiancé.

"Sorry, Lucas, but I've got a job to do. It's my duty to save as many of those people that I can. The police force is going to need every man and woman they can get."

"Man, when you talk about duty and honor, you get so hot."

Jessica grinned and pinched Lucas's ear. "Oh don't even talk to me about hot right now. It's going to be blistering over there!"

Jessica's fiancé turned serious, "You stay safe, Jessie. You hear me? I don't want you to get hurt out there. I know how people can panic and lose self-control. If it gets ugly, then save yourself."

Jessica ran past him and opened the front door. She turned to him and said four words before leaving Lucas to stand alone.

"Honey, it's already ugly."

--------

Ugly was a huge understatement. Jessica had to abandon her car in a nearby bank's parking lot; there was no other place to park it. There were police cars and road blocks all surrounding the huge fire. Already the blaze was threatening Jermain Park. Firefighters and fire trucks were trying to push the fire away from the park. Luckily, the winds were changing direction away from the park. With more luck the wind would bring rain. The heavy overcast clouds were looking mighty ripe for a downpour. All the smoke particles getting in the clouds would attract condensation and come back down soaking wet. It seemed that Mother Nature had already pulled up her sleeves and was working to balance the equation for the firefighters. But nobody could wait for her to bring the rain. Long hoses connected to fire hydrants and manned by numerous firefighters were firing geysers of water into the air. The helicopters were getting better luck with dropping tons of sand into the heart of the fire. The strong winds were pushing the heat away at a slant. The twisted tower of smoke loomed over everyone's head and blotted out the sun even more than the overcast did. It snaked like an enormous tornado of destruction.

Jessica wasn't wrong about the heat either. Waves of oppressive heat walloped her as she stepped out of her car. The situation looked much worse than it had from her apartment. Ambulances and medical teams wearing white uniforms were running oxygen machines back and forth at a frantic pace. Firefighters wearing bright orange suits were darting in and out of the blazing streets. Policemen were helping families find each other, redirecting traffic, keeping annoying gawkers out of the way, and assisting everywhere they could. The firetruck and ambulance sirens were fighting to be heard over the shouts and screams of grief stricken victims. Countless soot and tear streaked faces flowed together with the cascading noises to form a symphony of madness. And above it all was the roar and crackle of the inferno and the tar black tower of smoke which blemished out the firmament. Everything was moving at a frenzied speed. Jessica didn't know where to start!

Finally, Jessica found a supervising officer and told him that she was offering a concerned citizen that wanted to help. The fire chief didn't ask questions. She was ordered to help lost people find their families, starting with the children. Most of the victims were across the street, sitting on the curb and searching the crowd for familiar faces. Some of the victims were just wandering aimlessly, a dead look on their features. Children were the most helpless of them all, so policemen needed to help them the most. It usually helped that younger children looked up to the uniformed forces as figures of authority. Kids always want to be accepted by figures of authority, so they try to help as much as they can. Jessica found a young boy wearing a thick yellow sweater and walked him across the street. It didn't take very long before a heavy-set man stood up and ran half the distance to him. The big man was bawling just as much as his son when he picked up the boy and carried him to the rest of his awaiting family. Jessica didn't wait for his words of thanks and just turned back to the crowd. She ran child after child back to the street, with the occasional delusional adult, reuniting people again and again. Every once in a while there would be a kid who couldn't find his own family but instead opted to stay with a friend's family. Jessica didn't envy the police who were directing traffic. They had to deal with the men who were coming home from overtime work and finding their homes ablaze. Those men were the least reasonable of them all. Jessica knew that there were going to be rows of Tazers recharging back at the department when this was all over.

As Jessica herded people to the other side of the street, she caught snippets of conversation that had begun to sprout here and there. To her surprise, she heard the words "armored truck speeding away" several times and even more disturbing was "woke to explosions". Jessica had doubted that this was an accidental fire, but to hear this many people talk about explosions meant it had to have been arson. Whoever started this inferno would most definitely be facing life-in-jail. Jessica couldn't waste time getting angry at the arsonist; she had to help more people.

The hours passed by without notice. The sun made a few meager appearances through the smoke and clouds as it raced along its heavenly track in the sky. Nobody was going to complain about having to work past their scheduled time. The only thing on the medical, police, and firefighter teams' minds were saving everyone they could. The sky darkened and the smell of burning property, money, and trash grew stronger. Jessica knew that this meant that a low pressure system was forming. The clouds were as black as the smoke tower, making it hard to even tell where the smoke ended and the firmament started. Jessica was leaning against an ambulance, drinking some much needed water from a bottle, when the heavens opened up and unleashed a powerful downpour directly above the blazing inferno. The water hoses were immediately rendered little more than water guns. Helicopters were forced to dump their tarps of sand. The sand was becoming mud and was getting too heavy to carry. The inferno howled as though in anguish as the fires was doused. The snap and crackle was drowned out by the pitter-patter of rain. Jessica was instantly drenched and instinctively sought shelter in the back of the ambulance. She was ushered out when a medical team brought a burn victim into the ambulance. Everyone was getting everything gathered together to protect the things from the rain. There were four city buses gathering displaced civilians to transport them to their final destinations. Many people fought against their helpers, begging to stay and wait just a while longer for their missing family members. The fire had started so suddenly that Jessica doubted too many people had gotten away from the epicenter.

Feeling her work was done, Jessica ran to her awaiting car. She wasn't able to leave the parking lot for half an hour as the rest of the force evacuated. Mother Nature was taking care of things rather quickly. The twisted black tower of smoke had already been replaced by rising white clouds of steam. Jessica sat shivering, wet and cold, and pondering over what she had heard. If someone was using explosives in heavily forested area, he (or she) probably intended for this inferno. If that is true, then the person would need a getaway car. This might be where the aforementioned armored truck comes into play. However this is a bit farfetched because armored cars aren't exactly very common. Not to mention renting an armored truck is pretty expensive. That would appear to be out of the budget for a single arsonist. Unless he was being backed up by a sinister organization! Anyways, what would be the point of carrying explosives in armored trucks? Unless the explosives in question are very volatile and dangerous to transport!

Jessica shook her head and took a few steps back. She was speculating too far ahead without anything to back up her thoughts. She didn't even know if the armored truck was even related to the inferno. Maybe it was some UPS delivery guy who saw the fire started (with explosives or not) and made a panicky escape. In fact, this scenario was probably more likely. Jessica remembered that people were "woke up by explosives", not an armored truck speeding through the street. If the truck had been used to transport the explosives, then the people who were going to blow shit up wouldn't want to risk getting caught in the explosions. They would have driven away long before setting off the bombs, and thus would probably have already been in a completely different block before people could see it escaping. The only way people could have been "woken to explosions" and "seen an armored truck speeding away" is if the truck had been in the neighborhood when the explosions went off.

Still, Jessica couldn't back any of this up without any hard proof. Any evidence would have probably gone up in flames with everything else. Not to mention all this heavy rain would aid evidence destruction. Until the investigation actually got into the charbroiled neighborhood, they wouldn't be able to figure out what exactly started the fire. The other detectives could question the victims, if they weren't already doing exactly that. A spare thought about detectives "grilling" burn victims nearly made Jessica laugh out loud. _"Oh Jesus, I really need some sleep if I'm cracking up at my own bad jokes."_

All of the sudden the ordeal of driving all the way home seemed like an Olympian marathon. Deep-set exhaustion descended down on Jessica's shoulders and removed the option of driving home. Conspiracy theories set aside; Jessica picked up her cell and flipped it open. She stared thoughtfully at the bright screen.

The whole reason Jessica had sacrificed her afternoon was only a phone-call away. She sighed absurdly and leaned her head against the headrest. Sometimes Jessica thought that she and Lucas had rushed their relationship. They had only been seeing each other for a little more than a month when Lucas had popped the question. Jessica could remember every detail, as such as her work demanded. All the lights and colors and the smells at the restaurant as Lucas kneeled at her side. It had been a pre-meditated event that Lucas had organized with the staff. Lucas's boyish good looks and the perfect execution of the entire night had left Jessica breathless.

She had said yes with hardly a second thought.

It wasn't as though Lucas hadn't given her good reason to accept his proposal. He was a gentleman, but with an impulsive side that gave Jessica shivers. He was pretty intelligent, but without the elitist attitude. He could be very funny, but could be counted on to be serious when the situation called for it. He was almost _too_ dependable though. Jessica hated the thought of Lucas putting down everything just to come and rescue her from a long drive. Lucas made her feel good and she wasn't totally regretting her decision to marry him. The thought of being with him forever certainly did sound lovely. But the thought of being with him forever sounded scary too. It was such a huge decision to make without a second thought. Everyone at the department had cheered when she made the announcement. Jessica's mother had said, "It's about time that boy popped the question. Otherwise I was going to have to pop the question for him!" And then Mom had said that Dad would have been proud to have Lucas as a son. So there was no problem with family or friends. But still…

Yes, Jessica loved Lucas very much. And yes, she was looking forward to marrying him in the summer. But the whole night after Lucas's proposal, Jessica hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. Jessica had stayed up all night asking herself if she had acted too impulsively. Was a single month long enough to get to know a guy? Would there be trouble as soon as she was chained by a rock and a ring? It was a beautiful rock anyways. She could not find a single good reason to turn down Lucas's proposal. Yet here she was, running away from an afternoon looking at wedding dresses. Was she just too scared? Is it natural for a soon-to-be bride to get cold feet? The answer is yes, but it didn't make Jessica hate herself any less. A headache began to form against Jessica's left temple.

Suddenly, Jessica had a thought. She wasn't afraid that Lucas wasn't good enough for her; Jessica was afraid that she wasn't good enough for Lucas. But Lucas has told her countless times that he loves her and she has returned his love every chance she had. Why was she so scared of marrying the man she loved? She must look like a fool, waiting to ask her fiancé to come to her side.

A quick speed-dial and a plea for help brought Lucas driving through torrents of rain and to her rescue. "_Is there any reason why I shouldn't love this man for all of eternity?"_ thought Jessica in her head. Soon she was reclining in the passenger seat of Lucas's warm sports car and half-heartedly fighting off sleep. She'd pick up her car next morning. She didn't even care that it was only six-thirty in the afternoon. She'd been working her ass off helping the helpless. Of course there would be a lot more police patrolling this smoldering boulevard than usual. While most law-abiding citizens see this as a tragedy, those with a criminally-inclined mindset would see this as a prime opportunity for looting and stealing the surviving valuables. Jessica didn't know what thieves would hope to find in this charcoal heap, but that didn't stop them from trying.

Jessica genuinely hoped that other policemen would find a reasonable explanation as to what started this fire that didn't involve an arsonist. The idea that there would be some-ones, or someone, so demented that they would intentionally bring high-powered explosives into a peaceful neighborhood chilled her to the bone. Someone that senseless may try the same thing again. Suddenly Jessica remembered that there was another fire-incident just last week in another area, not too far away. But that one was judged to be the cause of an accident. Could there be two unrelated fatal fires in less than a week? Jessica didn't know the statistics, but they should be astronomically high. Unless, the two fire incidents weren't unrelated. That opened up a whole slew of theories that Jessica had no energy or evidence for. She slipped deeper into the soft car-seat and drifted into a deeper sleep.

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End Chapter Fourteen: Statistical Tragedies

_A single death is a tragedy; a million is a statistic._

-Joseph Stalin

You didn't think that such an explosive finish to chapter thirteen wouldn't have some tragic repercussions, did you? I'll get into more detail about Jessica Hawker's personality traits, flaws, and quirks as the story progresses. I have a whole department of detectives to introduce along with some story bumps to iron out. Not to mention that "real-life" economic problems affect even someone as low on the food chain as I am. If you don't have any marketable skills for a job and are still futilely looking for one, I feel your pain.

If you have a job, I hate your goddamn guts.


	15. War Plans

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: There's an unavoidable pause in action. Both factions retreat and lick their wounds. In this lull, unspeakable plans begin to form in dark minds. Strategies that are as horrendous as they are cruel and pitiless. Noah will use everything in his considerable arsenal of resources. Samael will have to make do with an entire city of potential victims.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Fifteen: War Plans_

The afternoon found me at the downtown Toledo Main Library. I figured, since I had nothing, I should grab some downtime. It's very surreal to experience a moment of leisure after a night like the one before. I couldn't stop glancing over my shoulder, half expecting to see a man with obsidian armor aiming a military-grade carbine at my head. My neck was beginning to ache.

The Toledo Main Library has got to be the biggest library in the entire state of Ohio. It has three floors including a subterranean parking garage. The grand lobby has a ceiling that reaches so far above my head that I would need to stand on a tree to reach the top of it. Colorful art depicting all manners of literature and culture circled the upper half of the grand lobby walls. The polished marble floor had imaginative shapes and angles stained into it. There was a security guard standing next to the exit aisle. Beyond him was the security station where all the cameras were linked to. The first floor was mostly the grand lobby and the Fiction/Nonfiction section. It also had a large Technology section with rows of desktop computers all lined up. The tick-tack of keys and the deep thrum of a few dozen hard-drives were the dominate noises. Not too many people spoke in the Technology section. A tall wall of glass with a single glass-pane door separated the Technology section from the Teen section. It had many comic books and other popular books for teenagers. The second floor wasn't a real floor, more like a room above the Business section. That's where the Children's Section, a cafeteria, and some more employees-only rooms reside. There were so many things and places to look at. I was beginning to feel small and insignificant.

The reason I had decided to visit the library wasn't merely for relaxation. I had smuggled the combat helmet in with my backpack. I had spent a great portion of the morning, almost the entire noon, and currently every waking moment of the afternoon trying to learn all I could from the helmet with help from the Internet. As for what I've found: nothing I can use.

I found a manufacture's logo on the inside of the helmet. A company called ARTEMISTECH produced this fine high-tech equipment. I found the company's website and that's basically where my search ended. ARTEMISTECH was founded by Arthur Gale in 1932 and has been taking military contracts for over seven decades. I didn't figure that I'd learn much by reading the history of the company, so I didn't bother. One thing of interest that I found was the name of the battle helmet that I'd stolen. I found a picture that looked an awful lot like the helmet along with the caption JERICHO NAVBAT. Just out of curiosity I checked the statistics for the helmet. Just browsing past the weight and dimensions, I looked at the features and I learned that Mr. L Sparks was telling the truth. Right there on the features was "A powerful GPS signal device that allows you to track and locate missing JERICHO NAVBAT helmets! You pay for one helmet; you get to use it no matter how many times you lose it!" Then there were some things about thermal vision, night vision, and Friend-or-Foe (FOF) identification signals. Meaning if you are wearing one of these things, you can be seen by everyone who's also wearing one of these things. I took a look at the price for a single JERICHO NAVBAT helmet. I had never before appreciated how much money was spent on war.

Apart from all that, I couldn't find a single thing that even slightly resembled a contractor's list. I suppose it'd have been stupid to put one on a public website. So after eating in the cafeteria, I decided to give myself a break and catch up on current events. The top story of today was a massive fire that was threatening to engulf the entire Toledo metropolitan. I think there was a tad bit of exaggeration. So far the brave heroics of firefighters and the police-force were all that stood between the blazing inferno and our very lives. I felt a twinge of regret about starting that fire. Then I shrugged it off and found a book to read. It was the closest thing to real life I had ever gotten in almost a week. I was reading the story of a conniving boy-genius who discovered a highly advanced society of magical creatures, just to kidnap one of these creatures and hold it ransom. I had actually read this story before, but it was somewhat refreshing to read something in which you already knew what was going to happen. It sharply contrasted my chaotic life now, in which I didn't even know what I was going to do at any time. As I look around at all the humans reading science fiction and fantasy stories, I realized that they were enthralled by things which they considered not possible.

Humans all exist in their own realities, shaped by their beliefs and biases and experiences. There are people whose realities include the existence of ghosts and poltergeists and tooth fairies. Then there are the more realistic people who only believe what they can see. People like that put no value in the supernatural. They believe what they are told by the scientific community, their government, and their own common sense. They don't believe in monsters or demons or anything that they can't experience with their own five limited senses. I wonder how they would react if I let loose the power under my thumb. I could put a massive gaping hole in every normal person's reality just by picking up one book and holding it with a vector over thin air. The merest display of my powers and I could drive the most level-headed human into lunacy.

Say that you don't believe in ghosts. The inexistence of ghosts is a solid and concrete part of your reality. But then someone shows you a real, immaterial, talking dead spirit. Now the existence of ghosts is part of your reality and you don't know what else you could be wrong about. You wouldn't know what to believe anymore. The existence of ghosts opens up a whole universe of possibilities. And to top it all off, your reality (ghosts exist) can be completely different than the next person's reality (ghosts don't exist) and there wouldn't be anything you could do to change their mind. Humans are very, very clingy to their realities. Some people won't change their realities even if you showed them a talking spirit. They would refuse to alter their reality to accommodate the existence of spirits. They don't want to consider the universe of possibilities that follow the acceptance of ghosts. Any person who doesn't know their own reality is best described as insane. They don't care if their realities are wrong, they just want the comfort of their own beliefs and biases and experiences.

How despicable was every human. They are the most closed-minded, intolerant, and selfish species on Earth. I wondered that if I start levitating above people's heads on top of my vectors, would even half of the population of the library even accept my existence. I suppose this is what God must feel like. I could show the world my incredible powers, but the world would deny me and then hate me for trying to shove my existence down their throats. Humans always fear what they don't understand, and they hate what they fear. This is why diclonius deserve a shot at running this planet. Humans are already doing a great job at running this planet, right into the ground that is. When diclonius replace humans, we could turn this world around. We would forgive every debt that our human ancestors started. In the first generation of diclonius, nobody would owe anyone anything. Countries that are billions and trillions in debt could start over, maybe renamed under a new diclonius population. Why would a diclonius China expect a diclonius United States to pay for the former human United States debt? If everyone is in debt, just forgive and forget every debt and everything will work out just fine.

"_**Hu**__ma__**n**__s ha__**ve**__ h__**a**__d __**m**__i__**ll**__e__**nn**__ia __**u**__po__**n **__**mi**__ll__**e**__n__**ni**__a __**expe**__rie__**nc**__in__**g **__**mis**__tak__**e **__**a**__f__**te**__r c__**ol**__o__**ssa**__l mi__**stak**__e. __**Di**__cl__**o**__n__**ius**__ a__**r**__e be__**tte**__r t__**h**__a__**n**__ h__**uma**__n__**s**__ i__**n**__ ev__**er**__y __**w**__a__**y**__. __**W**__e __**cou**__ld __**do**__ wh__**at **__**h**__u__**m**__a__**ns**__ can__**not**__, __**learn**__ fr__**om**__ hi__**sto**__r__**y**__. __**We**__ c__**a**__n l__**oo**__k __**b**__a__**c**__k __**a**__t hu__**man**__ki__**nd**__'s __**h**__is__**tor**__y of __**mistakes**__ a__**n**__d le__**arn**__ f__**rom**__ t__**h**__e__**m**__, __**wh**__ic__**h**__ i__**s **__**some**__th__**i**__ng h__**u**__m__**an**__s __**re**__f__**u**__se t__**o**__ d__**o**__ t__**hem**__se__**lv**__es.__**"**_

I turned my head, trying to catch sight of the haunting apparition. The Boy was nowhere to be seen, but he didn't have to show himself to express himself. I returned to my book, but I couldn't keep focused on the pages. The lines of text just blurred in front of my eyes. Finally I just dropped the book in my lap.

I was at a dead end and I didn't know what to do. I had no way to find out who this Noah person was and where he presided. I had no way to get answers for the questions I had. And I didn't have a way to predict where and when the next time I was going to get ambushed. So far the only way I've been able to get any answers was by interrogating the enemy soldiers. But unless I could prepare for an ambush, the likelihood of preserving even one soldier was dismal. On top of everything, I am afraid I may have accidentally dropped off their radar. I didn't know that they were tracking me through that helmet I was carrying. But now I have a new helmet that they can't use to track me. So it may be entirely possible that they don't have a clue where I am. I actually regret that I removed the batteries from the second helmet. What if, by sabotaging their way to track me, I've lead this war into a stalemate? I don't want a goddamn stalemate! I want them to attack me! I want to slaughter their soldiers and cripple their morale! And above all, I want answers!

With an explosive sigh, I slouched in my comfortable sofa-chair. I haven't left the Hotel Carter yet. I know that they must know that I am presiding there. After all I brought the old helmet into my apartment. It's the only thread that I know of by which they can track me. If I left there, intentionally or not, they may lose sight of me. Of course, there's always the possibility that they are tracking me by methods I'm unaware of. But I can't overestimate their resources. That could be a big mistake.

It's a fine thread I'm walking. I mustn't let them lose track of me. But at the same time I can't let them get suspicious. _**If they lose me then I lose them!**_ And I certainly can't stand on a rooftop and scream at them to get me. It's frustrating beyond belief, but I have to come to terms with my limitations. If only there was a way to _make them hurry the fuck up!_ I'm getting sick and tired of waiting for them to attack me! I know so little about them that I don't even know the name of their Organization. My only strategy is a pathetic passive-aggressive stance.

"_I'__**ve**__ g__**ot**__ a __**plan**__.__**"**_

The voice of the Boy came straight from my right-hand side. I turned my head and saw the bandaged figure lounging in the chair neighboring my own. He was slung across the arms of the chair with his bare feet away and his malformed skull toward me. He had a sadistic wide smile full of sharp teeth. I hadn't noticed those before. He was much closer than comfortable, which was probably his intent. He shifted in his chair until his neck stretched the short distance between the chairs and the top of his head rested on my armchair. The Boy's head was upside-down, giving his wild expression an even stranger twist. I noticed that despite how he was struggling to get comfortable, the chair didn't look even the slightest bit disturbed. The pillow on the seat wasn't wrinkled and the chair didn't creak. Finally the Boy settled down and fixated my red eyes with his blue. He seemed genuinely eager to reveal his idea. And to be honest, I was interested in what my insanity had brewed.

"So spill it already." I said, just a little bemused.

The Boy smirked in his aggravating way and opened his mouth. Just at that moment his expression was eclipsed by a large shadow. Suddenly the Boy disappeared under a mass of human fat that had landed in the seat of the chair with an ear-splitting creak and a sigh of exhaustion. A very obese man with a goatee and a mullet sat in the seat right beside me. I must have had a peculiar expression because the man gave me one glance and then turned away to read the newspaper. I also turned away to hide my face. I thought I was going to burst out laughing or suffocate trying to hold it in. Tears of laughter were threatening to fall down my cheeks. Suddenly the Boy appeared in a chair on my opposite side, still in the same throw-doll position. The only difference was that his excited expression was replaced by a disgusted snarl and his blue hair was disheveled.

"_**I**__ d__**id**__n'__**t**__ t__**hi**__n__**k**__ I __**wa**__s go__**ing**__ t__**o**__ s__**urv**__iv__**e**__.__**"**_ The Boy gasped. I thought I was going to lose it. I hadn't felt this good for so long now. I almost didn't recognize the emotion as happiness. The Boy growled in a threatening way, but I didn't care. I wiped my cheeks and let loose a short snicker. The mountain of a man beside me also glared at me, probably thinking I was laughing at him. I gestured to the book in my lap and said that I was chuckling at a scene in the book. The man grunted and then lifted himself out of his seat. The poor pillow had been squashed nearly flat. I had to wipe my cheeks again as I struggled not to express amusement anymore. God I needed that.

The Boy from the Darkness shook his head in bemusement. Then he began to speak in his malice-filled strange voice. The plan he began to outline firstly disturbed and frightened me. All of the good feelings I was basking in suddenly dried up. The more I listened, the worse I felt. But I didn't tell him to stop. At one point I began to shake in anger and loathing. But his smooth voice kept me enraptured as he delved into more details. I don't know how long I was sitting in the chair as he spoke. It was like listening to the screams of a woman getting cut up. It chilled me to the bone but I couldn't stop paying attention. Yet despite how horrible it was, the plan made sense. It was undeniably sound, no matter how sick and depraved it was. Finally the Boy stopped speaking and watched my pale face for any signs.

"_O__**nc**__e __**w**__e __**sta**__r__**t**__ w__**e**__ ca__**n**__n__**ot**__ s__**top**__.__**"**_

The Boy's plan was simple in its depravity and brutality. All it required was that I killed humans every night for as long as it took. That's the entire plan. The Boy reasoned that the Organization that I was at war with would be concerned with a human death toll. It was easy to see what would happen if the number of humans dying suddenly jumped higher and higher. Noah is the boss at this Organization, but even he must have people he reports to. His superiors won't want a high death toll because that will definitely bring scrutiny to the events unraveling in Toledo. Noah's superiors will pressure him to _hurry the fuck up_ and send more troops to capture me. The more troops I kill, the greater the chances that I can interrogate one to get my answers. The more humans I kill, the greater the pressure on Noah to send troops. And on top of everything else is my secondary power: the power to infect humans with the Vector virus.

I instinctively know about it. Nobody had to tell me that I have this power. I simply woke up this morning and "remembered" that I could infect humans by passing a harmless vector through their brains. And the details of this virus aren't unknown to me either. I know that this human will become a carrier for the virus. And this virus is that of a smart-virus. Meaning it doesn't kill those who carry it. The carriers will forever conceive diclonius with every woman they impregnate. And so while I'm killing humans and the Organization's soldiers, I'll be planting the virus in every human within 2 meters. It's safe to assume that the Organization knows about the Vector virus. Their primary concern will be an army of diclonius being born in Toledo. So while they won't know how many humans I'm infecting, they'll assume that I'm infecting many humans. And then they'll push more pressure on to Noah to capture me and stop me. And so the cycle will spin faster and faster until I finally bring the whole thing down on Noah's and his Organization.

All I have to do is kill humans every night for as long as it takes for me to get my answers. I wanted to die. This plan involved much more bloodshed than I had ever wanted. I couldn't even begin to imagine how many people would die. And yet, why should I care? These are humans, exactly the same as those who had killed my family. So I shouldn't think twice about descending as an angel of massacre and paving the streets red with human blood. Isn't that right?

The plan was undeniably solid. It was the best plan I had. And all I had to do was infect and kill humans. But I still had my objections.

"I won't infect humans." I said. The Boy tilted his head and fixated me with a glare full of loathing. His mouth contorted furiously as he shouted.

"_**Wh**__y t__**h**__e __**fuck**__ w__**on**__t __**y**__ou __**inf**__ec__**t**__ hu__**man**__s__**?!"**_

"Because I don't want any diclonius to suffer!" I said through gritted teeth. The Boy narrowed his eyes but didn't say a word. I pressed on, "If a diclonius newborn were raised by humans, it'll undoubtedly suffer terribly at the hands of the human society."

"Look at what happened to me. My own mother didn't want me and drank herself nearly to death. School was a nightmare before I got my disguise because I was always picked on my bullies just for looking different. It didn't help that my hair was pink back then either. My horns were grabbed and pulled on and I was always crying.

I was unhappy at school and miserable at home. If I had awakened my powers then, I would have certainly killed lots of people. I can barely fight off Noah's grunts even as I am now. A child diclonius would certainly get captured and then experimented upon. That poor diclonius would never know happiness. That's the fate I would be sealing for every human I infect. I don't want to put anyone else through anything like that."

The Boy sat properly in his chair and looked at me with an expressionless face. He stared out a window toward a smoking black column that towered over the blazing red sunset and sat in contemplative silence. Then the most unexpected thing happened. He nodded his malformed skull in agreement.

"_**You**__'re __**th**__in__**k**__ing __**fo**__r t__**he**__ fu__**tur**__e __**o**__f __**eve**__ry __**dic**__l__**oniu**__s. __**An**__d __**n**__o__**w**__ th__**at**__ y__**o**__u __**me**__nt__**ion**__ i__**t**__, __**I**__ d__**on**__'t __**thin**__k __**I**__ co__**ul**__d __**han**__d__**l**__e __**th**__e __**id**__ea __**o**__f __**h**__um__**ans**__ r__**ai**__s__**ing**__ o__**ne**__ o__**f**__ us. __**The**__n __**i**__t'__**s**__ a__**greed."**_

I felt a genuine smile cross my face. Like mentioned before, the Organization couldn't possibly know how many humans I was infecting. So they would automatically assume that I was infecting many humans. The Boy's plan would work without a hitch even if I infected no humans. Now if only I could get rid of the pit in my stomach involving the other half of his plan. Could I bring myself to kill humans every night for an undefined length of time? It was the only way to show the Organization that I was serious. To show them I was ready for war.

"_**T**__o__**mor**__ro__**w**__, y__**ou**__ w__**ill**__ b__**eg**__in __**th**__e __**cycle**__.__**"**_ growled the Boy in a harsh voice.

I almost argued against it. But he was already gone. I was alone in the lobby, surrounded by the humans which I have sworn to slaughter. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the sofa chair. After tomorrow, I will seize the flow of war and I will drag Noah out of his hiding place. There will be nowhere left for him to hide. I could almost envision his head on a pike. From this moment on, every human is an enemy in a war where no allies exist.

I sat up abruptly and stormed out of the Main Library. Tomorrow was going to be an eventful night.

* * *

End Chapter Fifteen: War Plans

This chapter has been poking and prodding me for the longest time. I hope you enjoyed the humor I slipped into the chapter. I'm not sure when I'll be able to post another. I may land a job in a place that boasts six days a week labor. That's what I'm hoping for anyways. Pray for me and for every human that falls to Samael. But mostly for me, pretty please?

Trivia question: What is the title of the book Michael was reading? Hint: The main antagonist was named after the Greek goddess of the hunt.


	16. Instinct

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: I think I need to install a new rule for reviews. I come to this site every day to check up for new reviews. And every time I get a new review, I just feel so happy. But this happiness disappears when I find out that all the new reviews are from the same person (not naming anyone) reviewing the same chapter over and over, just to add on to his first review. I don't mind one person reviewing different chapters all in a row. But from now on, each person can only post one review per chapter!

**Author's Notes **(**con.**): Events are unfolding in Toledo. Humans don't know this, yet they feel a small sense of melancholy. They don't know why they feel this unexplainable dread. There is no conscious reason, no constant pound of war drums. Perhaps the reason is something deeper, something… instinctual.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Sixteen: Instinct_

Jessica Hawker woke up very slowly. She could feel the warmth of sunshine on her cheeks. There was another, larger heat source much closer, snoring gently in the tangled sheets beside her. With a flash of ecstasy Jessica remembered what happened last night and she sighed out of pleasure, stretching her bare legs. There was soreness, but that was to be expected. Although Jessica wanted to stay in bed until Lucas woke up, she felt restless laying in one spot for too long. So, taking care not to bounce the mattress too much, she slipped out of bed, clutching the sheets to her breast. Lucas turned over and opened one eye. For a moment the sunlight was at Jessica's back, lighting up her hair like fire and casting a warm glow over her beautiful body. He was left speechless for a couple of seconds.

"You look like a Greek goddess." Lucas breathed in awe. Jessica smiled and leaned over the bed to kiss him fully on the lips.

"I feel like a goddess." Jessica said as she pulled back. Lucas started to sit up but Jessica protested and told him to stay in bed. She was going to cook him some breakfast. Lucas didn't push the issue and merely leaned back and admired Jessica as she donned a silk bathrobe. Then she strode out the bedroom door with the grace of a leopard.

As soon as Jessica was around the corner and out of sight, she began to hobble. She felt sticky and sweaty and sore. If this was how Greek goddesses felt all the time, then there was no mystery why they were always so short-tempered. Jessica limped all the way to the kitchen, muttering ouches as she shuffled. Sometimes Lucas could be too passionate on top of too dependable. A glimpse in a hallway mirror revealed her greatest horror made reality. A hickey shone on the left side of her neck. Jessica groaned in despair at the mere thought of what her colleagues would say if they saw it. Jessica had a stern and professional reputation to uphold! It was already difficult being a female homicide detective. And some of her coworkers were downright juvenile.

"Is everything alright?" Lucas called from the bedroom. Her groan was a little louder than she had anticipated.

"Oh everything is perfect!" Jessica gushed loudly. Then she ground her teeth and worked on making breakfast. Eggs on toast, with a little salt and pepper, she thought. That would be good enough for him, reasoned Jessica. Even as she cracked the second egg Lucas called out again.

"Are those eggs I smell? They smell delicious! If it isn't too much trouble, could you fry up some bacon too?"

Jessica Hawker squashed down a suggestion where he could fry and tossed a strip of bacon onto the pan. It wasn't as though Lucas wasn't aware that Jessica liked being respected at the department. He's visited her more than a few times, bringing her lunch on more than one occasion. One time he tried to kiss her in front of all her colleagues before she slugged him on the shoulder. So maybe he gave her that hickey on purpose? The thought brought heat to Jessica's cheeks.

Eggs slightly runny, toast somewhat burnt, and bacon as crisp as a piece of bark, Jessica returned to the bedroom. One look on her expression gave Lucas almost enough warning. Almost wasn't enough. "Baby, are you alright?" he asked slowly. Jessica slammed the tray down on his legs.

"You gave me a hickey!" hissed Hawker, stabbing her finger accusingly at the bruise-like mark on her neck. For a split second a bemused expression passed over his face, which didn't escape Jessica. "Lucas, you know that I don't want to be seen as tender in front of the other detectives. I need to be seen as stone-cold. And that's impossible with a love-mark so visible on my neck." She said miserably.

Lucas grimaced and began to apologize as Jessica sat down on the foot of the bed. "Baby, you're the toughest woman I know. You do things and see things that would make most of the guys at my job gag uncontrollably. I'm sorry, but it was a heat-of-passion thing. If it's any consolation, I didn't escape last night unscathed either." Jessica stared in wonder as Lucas turned to face away from her. His back had three parallel shallow fingernail marks about an inch long each. Jessica's face was completely red when he looked back. Her mouth opened and closed without a sound. "Birds of a feather, eh?" remarked Lucas. Jessica finally shut her mouth and tried for an apologetic grimace. Lucas laughed and just picked up his fork. He took a slice of egg and a bite of toast in at the same time. Then he picked up the bacon and bit into that too.

"Yum, I love crunchy wood for breakfast." He laughed as she laughed.

"I guess there are some things I don't even know about myself." Jessica said as Lucas wolfed down his breakfast in bed. He held his fork in the air, chewing furiously. Then he swallowed his food noisily and made a suggestion.

"Why not just wear a turtleneck?" Lucas proposed. "It's not too warm for one; in fact it's supposed to be chilly this morning." Jessica didn't have a better idea. Makeup would have to be pretty dang heavy and wouldn't stand up to the test of time. So she slipped off her robes and began to dress herself, fully aware of Lucas's hungry eyes. She only had one turtleneck and it was white. She'd have to be extra careful during lunchtime. So she pulled it over her head and then put her gun holster on. Jessica always wore the holster at the department. It kept people from thinking that she was a woman and reminded them that she was a policewoman.

Jessica has her own philosophy on respect. The Bible tells us to love God. Yet at the same time the Scriptures tell Christians to fear God. What the Bible doesn't say is that they should respect God. While Jessica isn't a church-going girl, she does have to admit that the Bible can be very insightful. Jessica's entire belief on respect is this: You cannot respect whom you do not fear. Respect is love mixed with a healthy dosage of fear. You can love your parents, but not respect them. If you don't have a measure of fear for their authority, then you can't honestly say that you respect them. So when the Bible tells Christians to love and fear God, it's actually laying down the foundation for respect. And this foundation for respect can be applied to everyone and anyone. If you love your spouse, but do not have any fear, then respect is out of the question. If you fear your government, but do not have any love for them, then there is no foundation for respect. And without respect, especially for authority, then the entire civilized world would crumble. Jessica enjoys the respect of her fellow detectives because she has earned it. It's very hard for a woman in this line of work to get any respect. Jessica feels that she has to instill some fear in her coworkers to balance the love that they feel for her. Once you lose the respect of your coworkers, then your career is doomed to spiral downward.

And that's why the existence of a single hickey drove Jessica into such a fit. Looking back, Jessica felt sorry for putting Lucas through that. It was stupid of her to think that Lucas would sabotage her career. As she pulled into the police department, Jessica began to think of ways to make up to Lucas. She flashed her photo ID to the front gate security guard and then drove into a parking garage. As soon as the shadows engulfed her vehicle Jessica automatically switched into detective mode. Lucas disappeared from her mind and her thoughts returned to the events of yesterday. No, not yesterday night, but yesterday morning. She picked up right where she left off.

Two nights ago a large wild-fire was started in the middle of a peaceful neighborhood. Then it took all that night and much of the next day to combat the fire. Many lives were lost and property damage had reached almost a million dollars. It was a terrible tragedy that Jessica had witnessed first-hand. Only a well-timed rainstorm had prevented more destruction. While Jessica was helping evacuate people and reuniting families, she had overheard people talking about the sound of explosions. In fact, the people that had heard the explosions were those that were awaken by them. Also even more people remember an armored truck racing away from the epicenter of the blast. This was highly suspicious and Jessica felt as though she needed to report it to Chief Isaac. That was just assuming that Chief didn't already know. He was a very perceptive man, to be sure. It was the main reason Isaac was Chief.

Jessica rode a freight elevator straight to her destination. She hadn't even gotten to the right floor and she was already starting to regret the turtleneck. Someone must have complained about the cold because the heater was blasting! She could feel the heat prick her cheeks and making them flush. As soon as Jessica stepped off the elevator the tidal wave of sounds crashed into her. She instinctively braced herself and strode onto the department floor. A few heads turned her way. Jessica put on her mask of indifference and made a bee-line to the Chief's office. Dodging in and out of moving bodies and around a maze of desks and cubicles, it really resembled a bee's dance from a bird's eye view. Suddenly someone stepped into her path and rudely blocked her way. Jessica glanced up and groaned in her head. That someone was Jared Ishtar, a police detective of Egyptian decent. His year-long dark tan was a cause of jealousy amongst some of the other policemen. He was also a jackass all year long. He smirked at Jessica's flushing face.

"Hey Jessie, you look like you've got something to hide with that long-neck shirt. Could it be a love-bite?" Jared grinned. Jessica wondered how much different the city could be if Jared used his powers of perception for good instead of childishness. This was the main disadvantage of working with detectives, not much gets past them. She had only one chance to escape imminent teasing. Jessica glared sternly at Jared and hooked a finger over the right side of her long-neck collar. She then pulled it down and turned her head to the left, baring her pure slender neck at him.

"In case you haven't noticed Ishtar, it's cold as a witch outside. Were you the one that complained about the cold? You never could stand anything under seventy-two degrees." Jessica shot at him. Jared's face was priceless as she stood in front of him with her arms crossed. She wasn't the only one that was wearing heavy clothes and paying for it. Quite a few of the other detectives were wearing sweatshirts and turtlenecks. All of them had red and unhappy faces, which were now turning to Jared's direction. Jessica struggled not to smile at her own cleverness. Not only did she escape Jared's mocking, but she had managed to make him the center of everyone's displeasure. Nobody would notice Jessica and her conspicuous turtleneck. A look of suspicion had begun to dawn on Jared's face and Jessica realized that she had patted herself on the back for too long.

All of the sudden her arm was grabbed and Jessica found herself pulled away from Jared Ishtar's suspicious stare. She turned to look at her kidnapper and saw her best friend Grace Burton leading her away. A wiry grin had spread across Grace's brown face.

"Girl, that was some quick thinking, hiding that hickey on your neck by turning the other cheek." Grace snickered. Jessica's mouth opened wide and she gapped at her friend like a fish out of water. She didn't even try to lie to her best friend and just closed her mouth. "There is only one reason a girl would wear a turtleneck over a neck as pretty as yours. And that's to hide a love-mark." Grace said slyly.

Grace was a very intelligent African-American policewoman. Her long black hair fell straight down her back. It seemed to flow gently like a steady stream as she glided stylishly in front of her friend. She held her friend's hand by the wrist with her slender fingers. Grace Burton was like her namesake, grace personified. Jessica realized that Grace was leading her further away from her objective and toward a private corner. Grace was always looking for intimate details concerning her best friend's love life. Perhaps it stemmed from her lack of a love life. Jessica didn't understand why Grace didn't have a boyfriend. The fact that she was black turned off too many white folks. And the fact that she was a policewoman turned off too many black men. It was pretty sad because Grace had to be the reincarnation of a beauty model. She was so gorgeous!

Even though Jessica Hawker wasn't afraid to open up to her best friend, she still had to talk to the Chief. Apologizing rapidly, Jessica pried away from Grace's steel vice-grip and escaped. "Thanks for the escape route!" exclaimed Jessica as she dodged Grace's swiping hand and slipped back into the bee's nest. A look of total devastating disappointment was left on Grace's face. Jessica did feel some sorrow for her friend, but she really needed to venture outside her comfort zone and find a guy that she likes.

The constant fast-paced talking, phones ringing in the background, the hammering of keyboards, it was all music to Jessica's ears. As far back as she can remember, Jessica's father has always worked to install a strong moral compass in his daughter. He taught her that compromising with criminals is the wrong thing to do. Cutting deals with a criminal is the wrong way to go about it. Even if it's to catch more criminals, cutting deals should not be the first response. All it does is reward the criminal for his behavior. And to a great degree, Jessica avoids making deals as much as possible. But there is always an exception to everything. Another strong point that her Daddy drove in was persistence. Anything worth fighting over is worth fighting to the end. Giving up halfway only wastes time and effort. If a wrong has been committed, then work at it until the wrong has been corrected. Never compromise with one who has committed a wrong. It's poison to the soul.

This firm moral teaching backfired upon Davis Hawker when Jessica Hawker turned out to be the one to put him behind bars for murder of the third degree. When she learned that her beloved Daddy had killed someone, she was heartbroken. When he turned himself in for arrest, Davis had requested that she be the one to take his confession. She remembers how his hazel eyes were brimming with tears when he spoke to her last. Davis Hawker told her that he was so proud of her. Jessica had never cried so hard in her life until that night. It was that case that had earned her the respect of all her colleagues. It was that respect for which Jessica was so adamant to keep.

Lost in her thoughts, Jessica's body was still capable at avoiding disaster merely by instinct and fast reflexes. She kept on walking briskly until she finally reached the Chief's office. She grabbed hold of the door knob and swung it open. She leaned her body in and knocked on the inside of the door. The Chief was standing behind his desk, sorting out papers. His tall body, wide shoulders, African-American features, and muscular build made him look like a giant. He's been told quite often that he looks like Ruben Santiago-Hudson. Chief Isaac was a mountain of a man. Yet despite his brutish appearances, he was still highly intelligent and very proficient at connecting the dots where nobody else would think to even look. His observational skills had been tested and scored in the ninetieth percentile. He was pretty old school, but he didn't have a problem with solving a case using unorthodox methods. Anything to keep the criminals thinking twice, Chief Isaac always says. At the moment, the Chief was probably thinking some pretty criminal thoughts himself, judging by his scowling expression.

Jessica knocked again and this time the Chief looked up. His face was still surly and Jessica felt like a schoolgirl being scolded by the principle. Then his brown face brightened when he set eyes upon her and the pseudo-flashback ended.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Jessica said.

"It's nothing important." replied Chief Isaac. He picked up a stack of papers and unceremoniously stuffed them in a large drawer. He then sat down and looked up at Jessica with an earnest expression.

"I don't want to interrupt if you're doing something." Jessica said cautiously.

"Ah, so you insist on interrupting me. Come in, what do you want to say?" Chief Isaac said cheerfully. Suddenly Jessica realized that Isaac was using her to escape paperwork. If he was questioned later about why he hadn't done the work, Isaac could say that he was interrupted by an important matter. Jessica chuckled to herself. She stepped into his office and took a seat in front of her boss.

"I want to talk about the fire that happened yesterday." Chief Isaac nodded solemnly and gestured for her to continue. "I have some information to report on the matter."

"Does it have anything to do with booms in the night?" interjected Chief Isaac. Jessica suddenly felt foolish. How could she have thought that Isaac wouldn't know about the rumors? He was Chief of the entire Toledo police department! Her face must have betrayed her disappointment because it was his turn to chuckle. "Don't get mad just because you weren't the first one to fill me in. I had a lot of policemen and detectives interview the victims. The subject of explosions and something about a car kept coming up."

Jessica sighed, "I'm sorry for interrupting your work. I'll get going now." She started to stand up when the Chief spoke.

"Not so fast now. You're my most trusted detective. The fact that you brought up the subject only makes the information that much more trustworthy. Why don't you tell me how you heard about this?"

Jessica sat back down and began to fill him in on how she had helped the firefighters. She left out her reasons for volunteering and Isaac didn't press into the matter. She went into detail about just how much devastation the inferno had done and how she had helped people get together with their families. Then she told him when she first began to hear the rumors and began to get suspicious. She told him about her hypotheses concerning the armored truck. How it could have carried the explosions or just as easily have been a late-night delivery. That's when the Chief interrupted.

"I don't think it could have been a delivery. Yesterday was Sunday. I don't believe anyone makes deliveries on Sundays. And nobody makes deliveries that late at night. That armored truck probably has something to do with this whole mess!" exclaimed Chief Isaac. Jessica hadn't thought of that. Suddenly the idea that this was a terrorist attack both excited and terrified her.

"So you think you could authorize me to open this up as an official case?" asked Jessica.

The Chief suddenly turned dark. "Jessica, I can't open up a case merely on our baseless speculations. I'd need some damn good evidence."

Jessica slammed her palm on the Chief's desk. There was her biggest fear, the terror of the red tape. "I know that something is happening in this city. Something big is going on right under our noses and we can't do anything about it!" Jessica said angrily.

"So you're thinking the same thing as I am," said the Chief, "could you explain why you believe something is happening?"

"Well, there's the fact that this is only the second fire in less than two weeks. There was another fatal fire not too long ago. I don't know the statistics, but the chances that this is unrelated seem pretty astronomical."

The Chief nodded in agreement. "I know about that fire too. But it still isn't enough. There aren't any connections. The two fires occurred so far apart. Is there anything else driving you?"

Jessica scrunched up her face as she thought. "I can't explain why I believe so. I-I guess it's just… I don't know… instinct?"

Chief Isaac smiled so broadly that Jessica suddenly saw her own father's face superposed over the Chief. The illusion was broken just as quickly as it appeared. He spoke proudly "I couldn't have said it any better. You've got the genetics of two great detectives. If you think something's wrong, then something must be wrong. I wouldn't trust this case to anyone else but you."

"Then you're going to open this up?" said Jessica. The Chief shook his head.

"I still can't present 'instinct' to the mayor. But I'll have all the best people go over the scene of the fire with a dozen fine-tooth combs until we finally get the evidence we need. We're on the same wavelength, Jessica. We may not be able to explain to the blowhards in office, but I won't stop until we have ourselves a case. Then it's in your capable hands to crack it open! And if anything happens, say a third fire, then we can get started even sooner."

Jessica stood up and shook hands with the Chief. She felt refreshed now that her feelings weren't completely baseless. If the Chief thought something was going down, then something was definitely going down. She was smiling as she walked toward the door.

"Oh and by the way." Isaac called after her. "Next time you get a hickey; don't try to hide it with a turtleneck."

Jessica was no longer smiling as she left the Chief's office.

* * *

End Chapter Sixteen: Instinct

My dear readers, you've been with me for sixteen chapters already. I think it's time I revealed a little bit of the conceptual beginnings of this tome. This story has two great big inspirations. The first and foremost one is _Elfen Lied_, but that's pretty damn obvious. The second one is actually a movie named _Donnie Darko_. I know a bunch of you guys are now slapping your foreheads. Did the theater scene tip any of you off? What about an insane teenager taking sinister orders from a frightening figure that only he can see? _Donnie Darko_ has got to be the best psychological horror movie of all time. And its soundtrack is out of this world. If anyone hasn't watched it, then I highly recommend it.


	17. Naming the Beast

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: This is a short shout-out to my anonymous readers. I like replying to my reviewers to discuss their comments and suggestions. But I can't do that with anonymous reviews. If you want me to talk to you, then make an account. To this end, I'm disabling anonymous reviews.

**Author's Notes **(**con.**): I have the basics of this story written out in my head. From beginning to end, I know what will happen. I've spent a considerable amount of time working out most of the problems and ironing out wrinkles. I have no problem listening to suggestions and ideas, but let me tell my story my way. The advantage to having a story written out already is that I can foreshadow certain events. I'm not making it up blindly (mostly). And who knows, maybe you'll see a character you suggested appear in the sequel…

_**

* * *

Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Seventeen: Naming the Beast_

I found myself sitting alone on a bench in front of a bus stop. Was it night already? I hadn't paid attention during the rest of the day. My thoughts were stuck on the task ahead of me. Tonight I would start the cycle of endless death. I would kill human after human until Noah is forced to act. I have a city full of victims to use as weapons. Rain began to fall in a light drizzle. It's been raining off and on all day.

As I sat, my thoughts were with my family. I wondered if there was a funeral yet. Should I have attended? Then again the funeral would have been for me as well. A dead man shouldn't visit his own gravesite if he wanted to stay dead. But I remembered that the article in the newspaper mentioned something about bones. It said that there was enough bone fragments to account for three bodies. The only logical thing to explain it was that Noah's soldiers must have left a body behind to get caught in the blast. They would have buried his bones in my grave. Was a monster lying next to my parents' gravesite? The thought made me so furious for some reason. Did they give Theresa a gravestone? I wouldn't know unless I visited the graveyard. My heart grew heavy with grief.

The rain began to fall in earnest. I wrapped myself in vectors to try and protect my frail body. It didn't work for the most part. Vectors make for dismal umbrellas.

I missed them so much, so very much. Even though it felt like an eternity has passed, the pain of it all hasn't diminished. It wasn't fair. There was no reason to kill them. I was the only one who should have died. But Mom and Dad gave their lives to protect mine. I will treasure their sacrifice and use the chance they've given me to kill the son of a bitch that murdered them. I will have Noah scream for forgiveness before I rip him apart into as many pieces as I can manage. I won't let him get away from me, not once! My anger was ceaseless, forever and eternal. It was like a fire that burned at my heart and a furnace that forged my drive. There will be no chance for redemption.

If I have to kill a thousand humans to get to him, then so be it.

I don't blame every human for the death of my family. That would be like hating every shark in the sea for one attack. There are too many humans to hate them all for the actions of a few. That's not why I hate humans. I hate humans because of what they are. Humans are warmongering glorified apes that don't know when to step down from the top of the food chain. But it's not like you can blame them for their warring ways. What else can you expect from a human? A scorpion must sting, a shark must feast, and a human must wage war. Whether it against with nature or with his fellow man; humankind is always fighting.

Humans evolved from Cro-Magnons and Neanderthals, which evolved from gorillas and orangutans. It's only natural that Humans would eventually step down from the top and make room for the next stage of human evolution: the Diclonius. But humans are so stubborn that they can't accept change. They've had their time to rule the planet. Now it's the time of the diclonius. The rainfall was so heavy it felt like I was being pummeled.

The TARTA bus pulled up to the stop. I could hardly see anything else but the interior lights through the black curtain of rain. The lights appeared to be suspended in midair. I stepped on to the bus and paid my fare. The acidic stench invaded my nostrils, threatening to stay trapped in my nose forever. Like last time, I didn't know my destination. I wasn't going to choose my targets methodically. I had to be completely random, with no discernable pattern. I knew that there was definitely going to be a police investigation when I start to kill civilians. But I should be safe from any investigation.

I stared out a drenched window as time rolled by. It occurred to me that I may get lost and never get back to Hotel Carter. But that thought didn't really bother me. I already had my backpack with all my things, namely the helmet and my treasured picture. And my wig was seated on my head, concealing my horns until I decided to expose my birthright. I hadn't yet started thinking of Hotel Carter as a home. My only home was lost forever, burned down with the building that housed me. Still, I had paid for an entire month at Hotel Carter, and it'd be a shame if I didn't get my dollar's worth.

The bus drove through curtains of rain. A jagged streak of white lightning pealed across the tar black skies and split the firmament in two halves. Even after the bolt had disappeared, the afterimage had been burned in my eyes for another second. A thunderous boom echoed from the heavens and the image faded. A thin chassis of steel and aluminum was all that separated me from the wrath of nature. Rain drops the size of my eye hammered against the glass as strong gales threatened to push the bus off the street. My forehead was itching pretty badly. Even though I tried to remove all the glass from my face, there were still some tiny pieces imbedded in my skin. I've read that some Hiroshima victims had glass pieces stuck in their skin for years after the horrible blast. Given my healing factor, it may take months before my skin is completely clear of all the slivers. It would itch for a long time before my body finally worked the miniscule fragment to the surface and I was able to scratch it out. "Maybe I should take a rain check on what I'm planning to do." I muttered vaguely to myself, digging my nails into my brow.

Another gigantic, white bolt of lightning arced from the skies and disappeared over the horizon. I could see my reflection in its light. Except it wasn't my reflection glaring disapprovingly at me. The Boy shook his bandaged head before the light was washed away with a splash of rainwater. That was right, no sleep until the task was complete. Was I even in control of my own life anymore? Did I want to know the answer? I stopped looking out the window and sat properly in my chair, fidgeting to achieve comfort.

Suddenly the bus began to lurch to a stop. I decided that this was my drop and stepped off the bus as soon as I could. Instantly I was soaked to the bone in ice-water. I couldn't make out the street sign and the streetlamps were powerless to illuminate the sidewalk. That was fine by me; I didn't want to be seen anyways. I didn't look back and just walked straight ahead. Unlike the last time, this street didn't have a lot of trees and it looked like most of the lawns were neatly trimmed. All of the dead leaves had been raked and bagged, sitting on the curb and smelling of autumn. I felt like I was waltzing through Greenland, cold as it was.

I think I was in one of those nice neighborhoods that I always heard Mom talking about moving in to. It wasn't really all that nice, but I guess I can blame the weather for spoiling my first impression. Still, it was much nicer than the ghetto that I grew up in. Maybe if Dad had broken down and brought us here, then we could have lived. Then again, I doubt that the neighborhood crime watch association would be able to stop Noah's bloodlust. Yet, it did bring up the question that I hadn't asked yet.

How did Noah know where I was and what I was before even I was aware of it?

It was a legitimate query. The only people (outside my parents) that should have known about my horns were the principle of my high school, and my physician. My principle was a nice enough old fart. What if my doctor was the traitor? But even that was hard to imagine. Why would my physician break patient/doctor confidentiality? It just wasn't possible that my old doctor would do such a thing. And just to rule out my principle, it was my parents' decision to enroll me in DeVilbiss High. They weren't told to put me in a special school prepared for me. So my doctor and my old principle were out of the question. That left only my parents… NO! I wasn't even going to consider it. Mom and Dad are just as much victims of Noah's evil as I am.

Noah started this war, so anyone that I kill is his fault as well.

I finally focused my distracted brain to the task at hand. It was up to me to choose who would die tonight. I was the Angel of Death, guiding the guillotine down on innocent necks. Samael would strike from the Darkness and drag the unwilling into their earthen graves. I would walk down stairs made from headstones, all the way to the unholy city of Tarnation.

The neighborhood was centered around a small _cul-de-sac_. The street lights illuminated the sidewalk in front of five houses. I walked into the center of the _cul-de-sac_, a circular island of soft grass surrounded by stone hard asphalt and concrete. No light reached me while I stood in the middle of the neighborhood. I was standing in a pool of my own Darkness, wallowing in an ocean of smothering anger. The rain fell hard around me, washing away the sounds of the night.

I wanted the murder to happen as far away from the bus stop as possible. I'd checked the bus times. Another TARTA bus wouldn't come for another hour or so. So I could take my time choosing the right place. Most of the houses had lights on inside. I could make out shadowy silhouettes walking in front of windows. Other people had their drapes open and I could see inside their private homes. I saw a variety of happenings. In one home, there were children sitting in front of a large television set. In another, there was a teenager speaking to her parents with a red face. Then in another home, a family was sitting formally at the dinner table, their heads bowed and their hands linked in prayer. Other families were sitting together, watching television together and laughing at some unheard joke.

The humans were blinded by their warm yellow lights. None of them could see outside their own houses. None of them knew of the danger standing in the heart of their neighborhood. It fell to me to choose which family would be wiped from the face of the Earth. Suddenly I realized that I was stalling. I didn't need to wait until I died from pneumonia. All I have to do is choose.

I waited for the black hatred to sweep me up into a senseless fury. Humans have always believed themselves to be the top of the food chain. They've always been the hunter and never the hunted. For millennia, this has been true. But now, out of nowhere comes the predator. How could these proud apes even realize that the hunter they never imagined is standing outside their very homes?

Finally, I took the first step toward the edge of Darkness. Large puddles of muddy water had flooded around the _cul-de-sac_. Four vectors reached over the pool and lifted me over it. I wasn't just out to kill; I was fulfilling my role as a diclonius. Humans have had their time; it was now the era of the horned ones. A two story house painted a sickly green loomed in front of me. I didn't choose the house for any reason. There was no method to my madness. I was as random and lethal as a lightning bolt.

I strode into the porch light and rapped my knuckles against the door. After a second, I uncovered the doorbell and fingered it. Hurry up, hurry up! I heard movement behind the door. The black hatred poured out like oil from a busted pipeline. The door swung open to reveal a slender young woman. Her face shone cheerfully despite the downpour around me. It was a pity, I had chosen poorly.

"Hello! Do you need anything?" she chirped.

When I spoke, I couldn't keep the fury out of my voice, "I'm sorry, this isn't anything personal."

A look of confusion passed over the woman's face before an ethereal vector gripped her throat. Confusion gave way to panic and she tried to step back away from her unseen assailant. Her bare feet kicked against the air and she tumbled backwards. The vector kept its steel grasp as I stepped out of the rain. Her eyes looked up at me with wild abandon. I reached for my hood and pulled it back. My white horns glistened in sharp contrast to the Darkness behind me. With a firm hand wrapped around her throat, I began to force the woman back down the hallway in front of me, further into her house. She struggled vainly, fingers pulling at an invisible hand. Her feet flailed and kicked the walls loudly. If only she wasn't a human.

I pushed her past a closed door. At that moment the door swung toward me and an older man stood in its frame. His eyes were wide with concern, only seeing his girlfriend. He didn't even see me as he knelt beside her, exposing his back.

"Sarah! Is it your asthma again? Can you breath?" the man asked in a panicked voice. Sarah's face was turning blue and she struggled to lift her finger in my direction. The man grabbed her throat and tried to massage it. His fingers encountered something that he hadn't expected. The scene in front of me was almost enough to snuff out my anger. But "almost" didn't save them. Finally, he took notice of Sarah's accusing finger and turned around. When he saw me, the man's entire body froze up. A single vector lanced out and split open his belly from left to right. Blood and entrails fell to the floor in a cascade of gore. The man looked down and he made a half-hearted attempt to gather up his warm organs. The oppressive stench of blood filled the hallway almost instantly. The man's large hands disappeared into his own guts; the look of shock hadn't left his face. Any longer and the pain would set in. There wasn't a need to drag this out that long. The man's head parted from his neck with a single clean slice.

Her bulging eyes watched her boyfriend's skull trace bloody arcs through the air. Sarah's face was turning purple and her tongue was swelling in her open mouth. I didn't want to let her suffer, so I lifted her body up into the air and punched a wraithlike vector through her chest and out her back. Sarah's entire body went lax the moment she died. And with that final murder, my anger was boiled away. I couldn't sense another human in the house.

I was alone again.

Without an object to focus it onto, my odium dissolved quickly. All of the sudden I was so tired that I almost fell to my knees. Summoning up the hatred necessary to take a person's life was more taxing than I had anticipated. At that moment, nothing was more important than finding a couch to sleep on. It sounds crazy, but there isn't anything more exhausting than murder. The hallway swam in front of my eyes. Red, red, and more blood red, it was everywhere. The awful smell invaded my nostrils and sent the world spinning. I couldn't stand the sight of blood anymore, so I went looking for a light switch. My hand fumbled in the light and I finally found a switch. With a flick, blessed darkness obscured the corpses. Except, the stench still filled the stuffy hallway. I pressed my hand against the half-closed door and pushed it open. The kitchen was on the other side, still illuminated with florescent bulbs. I located the light switch and turned off all the lights. Then with a number of vectors, I didn't know how many, I dragged the two bodies out of the hallway and into the kitchen. I wasn't sure why I did so, but it didn't matter. All I wanted was to sleep the horrid night away. Maybe I'd catch a bus in the morning…

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of tires on pavement.

Now it was my turn to panic. Could it be the men in obsidian armor? How could they have tracked me here? I ran to the window and saw a pair of blinding headlights. No, the soldiers wouldn't have their lights on. I saw a dark shadowy figure exit the small old fashioned Sedan. Cold fear flooded my veins. What if I were caught? I need to get out of here!

I ran out of the kitchen and found a stairway heading up to the second floor. I tore up the stairs and flung myself around the corner. I was breathing heavy sheer exhaustion, my legs burned sorely.

"_What am I doing? Why am I acting so scared? Why am I hiding in a house full of people I killed?"_

The answer didn't come to me, but I didn't move from my spot. Maybe I could sneak away? Whomever it was that was approaching the house, it didn't matter to me. The person hadn't seen me. But it wouldn't be long before the person called police, so I had to get away quickly. I heard the doorbell ring once, and then the doorknob jingle. The front door creaked open without the knob having to be turned. An elderly woman's voice drifted up the stairs.

"Oh dear, what are these two thinking. They didn't even close the door right. And why is it so dark?"

I remained frozen in the dark as I listened to the events unfolding down the stairs. I could hear the old lady walking down the hallway. Then the sound turned into splashing. The woman stopped and muttered nervously. I heard a light switch get flipped. I could imagine the old woman standing in a pool of blood as her vulnerable eyes adjusted to the harsh light.

High pitched screams filled the air. I slapped my hands over my ears and gritted my teeth. The screams faltered and I could hear low moaning. Splash, splash, creak… the woman following the trail of blood into the kitchen.

That was it, I had to run. I could jump out a window. I could use my vectors and get to the ground without hurting myself. I could escape the oncoming screams.

"_**O**__r __**yo**__u __**co**__ul__**d**__ ki__**ll**__ h__**er."**_

It was the hateful voice of the Boy from the Theater. He stood in front of me, towering over my body. I didn't need to look up to see his disgusted expression. I only looked at his bandaged legs. The Darkness deepened around me until it was so black I could see nothing else but him. I heard anguished screaming as though from a great distance. Only _his_ voice was clear in my ears.

"_**L**__oo__**k**__ a__**t**__ y__**ou,**__**a**__ p__**ath**__et__**ic**__ dicl__**oni**__us __**th**__at __**c**__an__**'t**__ e__**ve**__n __**fig**__h__**t**__ on__**e**__ fra__**gile**__ h__**u**__m__**an**__. __**Wh**__at's s__**t**__o__**ppi**__ng y__**ou**__ f__**ro**__m __**tear**__ing __**he**__r to __**pieces**__, l__**ik**__e __**the**__ hu__**man**__s __**d**__o__**wn**__ be__**low**__?__**"**_

I tried to keep my voice down to a whisper, "I don't need to kill her. There's no reason why I should end her life. I have reached my quota for tonight."

The Boy's conceited voice rose to fire and brimstone pitches _**"Quota?**__ W__**ho **__s__**ai**__d __**any**__th__**in**__g ab__**out**__ t__**her**__e __**bei**__n__**g**__ a __**fu**__ck__**in**__g __**quota?**__ A__**ll**__ y__**ou**__ h__**ave**__ to __**do**__ i__**s**__ k__**il**__l __**hum**__an__**s**__ e__**ve**__ry __**nig**__ht. __**Th**__er__**e**__ is __**n**__o __**fucking**__ qu__**ot**__a! Y__**ou**__ c__**a**__n k__**eep**__ k__**i**__l__**l**__i__**ng**__ t__**hes**__e __**un**__d__**e**__r-__**evo**__lv__**ed**__ ap__**es**__ a__**ll**__ n__**i**__g__**ht**__. __**Yo**__u __**c**__a__**n**__ ke__**ep**__ k__**il**__l__**in**__g a__**ll**__ nig__**ht**__! You d__**on**__'t ne__**ed**__ to __**st**__o__**p**__ a__**t**__ t__**w**__o hu__**man**__s. __**Yo**__u __**ca**__n __**g**__o __**b**__e__**yon**__d t__**w**__o __**hundred**__ h__**u**__ma__**ns**__, __**if**__ th__**er**__e'__**s**__ en__**oug**__h __**ti**__m__**e**__ i__**n**__ t__**h**__e __**day**__li__**g**__ht. __**Th**__er__**e**__ is __**no**__ mo__**the**__r__**fu**__ck__**ing**__**quota!"**_

Why didn't I want to kill the woman downstairs? I already knew the answer. I didn't want to hear her cries of anguish. Just listening to her hysterical sobbing reminds me of how I felt when my loved ones were murdered. I didn't have the strength to summon up the hatred. I was completely tapped out.

"I am too tired to kill her. I'm not used to this yet." I whispered. My lowered voice still sounded too loud.

"_**T**__h__**en**__ l__**et **__**me **__**d**__o __**it."**_

I raised my head and looked up at the Boy's bandaged face. At that moment, the bandages fell apart and exposed my own face, contorted in dark hatred and distorted like a funhouse mirror. The Boy crossed his arms in front of himself and glared down at me.

"_T__**hi**__n__**k**__ ab__**out**__ i__**t**__. __**Th**__at w__**om**__a__**n**__ i__**s**__ g__**oi**__n__**g**__ t__**o**__**cal**__l __**th**__e __**pol**__i__**c**__e. Yo__**u'v**__e __**sti**__ll __**g**__o__**t**__ a __**lot**__ o__**f**__ ti__**me**__ b__**ef**__o__**re**__ th__**e**__ b__**us**__ a__**rr**__i__**ves**__. T__**he**__ po__**lic**__e wi__**ll**__ cer__**tai**__nl__**y**__ c__**om**__e __**bef**__or__**e**__ y__**ou**__ c__**a**__n __**esc**__ap__**e**__. __**And**__ s__**in**__ce y__**ou**__ a__**r**__e __**too weak**__, __**too pathetic**__, to __**kil**__l h__**e**__r __**you**__rs__**el**__f, __**yo**__u h__**a**__v__**e**__ n__**o**__ c__**ho**__i__**ce**__ but to __**let me do it."**_

I couldn't believe my ears. "What are you talking about?" I said, forgetting to whisper for a second.

"_W__**hat**__, __**ar**__e y__**ou**__ go__**in**__g t__**o**__ d__**en**__y th__**e**__ s__**av**__i__**o**__r b__**ef**__or__**e**__ y__**our**__ e__**ye**__s__**?**__ I__**f**__ i__**t**__**wer**__e__**n**__'__**t**__ f__**or**__ me, __**yo**__u w__**ou**__l__**d**__ ha__**ve**__ d__**i**__e__**d**__ w__**he**__n __**y**__o__**u**__r ho__**use**__ b__**le**__w __**up**__. __**I tal**__ke__**d**__ y__**ou**__ o__**u**__t of __**dying. Y**__o__**u**__ o__**w**__e __**me**__ f__**or**__ th__**at!**__ I'__**ll k**__il__**l**__ t__**ha**__t __**wom**__a__**n**__ be__**fo**__re __**s**__h__**e**__ d__**ia**__ls, __**if**__ y__**o**__u j__**us**__t le__**t me…"**_

Why is the Boy so adamant about letting him, do what, kill that woman? He's just a figment of my imagination, right? How could he do it? Suddenly I remembered Robert's words.

"_You were walking all funny, like you had crapped your pants. I guess you looked kind of like a toddler taking his first steps, I was pretty confused. I told you that you couldn't just leave and you mumbled, I guess that's for the best…"_

I had dismissed it as sleepwalking for the time being. But that is a flimsy excuse at best and it in no way explains how I ended up five floors down without tripping on anything. Did someone else move my limbs that Saturday morning? The thought frightened the hell out of me. The idea that someone could move my body beyond my control was worse than anything I've ever imagined. And if that someone is in fact the bloodthirsty monster before me…

The Boy spoke in his distorted accent _**"Tic**__k t__**ock**__, f__**ee**__d t__**he croc."**_ His face split open in a sadistic grin. His teeth were sharp, as though they had been filed to a point. But he was right, time was running out. And I wasn't ready to kill the woman _or_ face the police. Not yet, not now.

My voice was filled with uncertainty, "Alright. Do what you have to."

The Boy barked in laughter and I dropped into Darkness…

* * *

My eyes pulled open, but it wasn't me who stared out from their ruby red lens. I was sitting in an all-too familiar setting. The cavernous theater with its gigantic screen spread out in front of me. The screen was so huge it looked to be the size of a football field tipped onto its side. Its brilliant shine only illuminated the smallest slice of this mammoth cave. It was like candlelight in a black hole. I settled into my seat and looked around. The Boy was nowhere to be seen. This was the first time I've been in the theater without him. I then turned to watch the screen.

I could see myself sitting in a corner in front of the stairs. This time, there was sound playing. I could hear a woman crying, but it sounded faint. Then I stood up. Yet I was sitting in my seat. I raised my hands in front of my face and twisted them around lazily. Yet my hands were gripping the arms of my seat. A dark grin spread across my face. Yet I could only feel fear in my heart.

The Boy stood up out from the corner and took a tentative step forward. He pressed his hands against both walls and steadied himself. He then braced himself and stepped a shaky foot forward. Then he let go of the wall and balanced himself on two feet. I looked like I had never taken a step before, or at least not in a while.

My body was moving of its own accord. I was not moving my own limbs. It was not me who was controlling the muscles of my body. How could I have agreed to this? It was my worst nightmare come to life. I had lost control of my own body.

The Boy opened my mouth and I heard my own voice rasping "Finally, I've been waiting for this." Then he began to stagger toward the stairs. When he stood in front of the steep staircase, he stopped and stared down all sixteen steps. "Fucking stairs." He grumbled before taking his first step down. He leaned forward dangerously and nearly lost his balance. "I fucking hate stairs." The Boy snarled.

I was on the edge of my seat. If he lost his step and fell down the stairs, then it would all be over. There would be no way he could stop the woman from dialing the police. How could I have agreed to this? But the second step was more successful than the first. And before I knew it, the Boy was walking down the stairs with the stealthy lope of a jaguar. He's a fast learner apparently. An eager expression spread across his face, my face. He strode into the blood filled hallway and gently pushed the door open. When he leaned his head in, the woman was nowhere to be seen. Bloody shoeprints lead away from the two corpses and out another door to the right. Low sobbing came from the adjacent room, along with the sound of a telephone coming off its hook. The Boy moved fast and reached for the second door knob. He pulled it open with care and stepped into the next room.

The elderly woman was standing with her back to the door. She was wearing a pink jacket, soaked with rain and blood. She had gray hair. In her wrinkled right hand was a wired phone. She was having apparent trouble pressing the right buttons with a shaky finger. This was his chance, just decapitate the woman and get going! But that's not what the Boy did. Suddenly, an ethereal vector snaked out of his body and reached over to the woman's back. But instead of killing her, the vector snipped the phone wire. At first, the woman didn't even notice. Her attention to the now-useless phone buttons was absolute. Then when she dialed 9-1-1 successfully and brought the phone to her ear. With creeping horror, the woman looked down and laid her eyes on the severed cable. Her small mouth dropped open and she drew in a shaky breath.

The Boy stepped behind her and spoke in a harsh voice "The phone is dead." The helpless woman whirled around and screamed. Outside, rain and lightning pounded from the skies and drowned out any sound. The Boy screamed mockingly and his hand shot out and grabbed her throat. He squeezed her frail neck until her scream stopped. Then with the aid of two vectors, he lifted the woman bodily and carried her back into the kitchen. She struggled in vain, but the powerful vectors wrapped around her body pinned her arms at her sides. Then suddenly she was tossed like a rag-doll right into the small pile of bodies I had left behind. Her cries of anguish and horror filled the kitchen as the Boy walked over to her. Out of the corner of his eye, the Boy spotted a knife block with a complete set of Miracle Blades all in their proper places.

Several vectors snaked out with an unheard command. Each hand grabbed a knife and pulled it from the block. The knives hissed as they were being removed from their slots. There were two knives that were twelve inches long, designed to cut huge slices from a turkey breast. The other knives were assorted from cutting to chopping to dicing. The elderly woman's eyes grew wide as the knives hovered above her frail body. A lightning bolt tore open the heavens and lit up the entire kitchen. The brilliant light reflected off the silver blades. At the sound of crashing thunder, the blades all dropped at high speeds and impaled the woman simultaneously. Her scream was lost in the noise.

A deafening silence fell throughout the house. The rumble of rain sounded miles away. The Boy drew in a breath and let loose a shrieking laughter. He kept laughing and laughing, like a hellish demon finally unchained. His entire body shook with laughter. In that moment, I realized that I could never hope to be the Angel of Massacre. The Boy now had a name.

And that name was Samael.

* * *

End Chapter Seventeen: Naming the Beast

Okay, that took far too long. I'm sorry for making all you guys wait. I think the main thing stopping me from writing is this stupid economy. Also I'm a lazy bastard and I have begun to loath writing the Boy's- I mean Samael's terrible accent. Oh well, I started to write Samael's accent in alternating **bold** and _italics_ because this site doesn't support different font. It's become his signature apparently.

I wish that I didn't have to turn off the Anonymous Reviews option. But I want to be able to talk to all my reviewers. If you are a frequent visitor to this site, then become a member. It's easy and free and it allows you to talk to the author about your reviews and comments. I highly recommend getting a free membership. Chapter Eighteen will be coming shortly before the Tuesday after I get a goddamn job.


	18. Partner

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: I had hoped that my anonymous reviewers would get full accounts so that they could write reviews and get responses. But it appears I was proven wrong. Anonymous Reviews has been reactivated. I suppose I'll take what I get.

* * *

**_Angel of Massacre_**

_Chapter Eighteen: Partner_

Anxious. Unsettled. Nervous. These emotions churned in Noah's stomach. His great plan had run into unmistakable problems. It was now falling closer to the "failure pit" than Noah felt comfortable with. So far, everything that Noah's thrown at Subject D-1 has failed. The "branch graph" which Noah had drawn with meticulous detail was predicting that if Noah failed more than three times in succession, then the diclonius would escape forever. But as it is, the branch graph only held the current situation at Stage Yellow. Noah would have to work much harder to capture the subject.

Noah could see all the pieces of his plan falling, but not at the optimum rate or position. It would require intense micromanaging to construct the perfect plan. There were too many variables at the moment. Noah needed to reduce the variables as close to one as possible. The only variable that was completely up to chance was Subject D-1 himself. The subject had fallen completely off the radar until just earlier today. Until just a few hours ago, Noah had been convinced that Subject D-1 would have left the dingy hotel. It would seem like the smartest idea, abandoning a compromised hideout. Yet just a few hours ago, one of Noah's agents on the street spotted the subject walking out of the hotel front doors and then an hour later returning with a new set of clothes.

If Subject D-1 was trying to avoid capture, then he was doing a terrible job. It didn't line up with Noah's current profile of Subject D-1. The subject usually showed off amazing proficiency against trained soldiers. There was no doubt that the subject was very intelligent and cunning. After all, that trap he laid in the last confrontation was—Noah was loathed to admit—genius. So it disappointed Noah to discover that his experiment hadn't left his hideout, even though he _must_ know that it was compromised. What reason could Michael have for staying? Noah realized that he had accidentally thought of Subject D-1 with his given name. The subject was a diclonius, not a human.

Noah couldn't think of any reason why Subject D-1 would stay at his apartment. So he pushed it from his mind and continued his brisk walk down the well-lit corridor. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the diclonius research facility was a good two kilometers under the surface. Noah couldn't wait to get back to the surface, so he power-walked toward Dr. Suchong's labs. The good doctor's laboratory was the perfect place to hide his ace until it reached fruition. Bloodcurdling screams weren't uncommon in the laboratories. Noah couldn't risk anyone learning about Subject S-148 until all of her mental programs had been cemented in her brain. Noah needed to be sure that all the traps and triggers were set before she was released into the human population. Subject S-148 had to be under absolute control before she was sent to capture Subject D-1. The only thing worse than one unaccounted for diclonius was two diclonius, even if the second one was an infertile silpelit.

Noah palmed a scanner and stepped in as soon as the metal door hissed aside. It wasn't the same room that Dr. Suchong held Subject S-148 the last time. This new laboratory was even further removed from the main wing facility. Due to the illegal nature of the experiments, there were no incriminating recordings from video surveillances. The only recordings were stored in a separate server disconnected from the main server. All of this was to prevent anyone from accessing the main server and downloading incriminating evidence. This worked in Noah's favor because it meant he could continue programming Subject S-148 without any surveillance watching over his shoulder.

The new room was nearly identical to the last. It was a viewing room with an entire wall turned into an enormous one-way mirror. The adjacent room was completely different however. Gone was the stainless steel table. Gone were the surgical knives hooked up to merciless robotic arms. Gone were the bloodstained grates and agonized screams. Subject S-148 had been broken some time ago. Now she was a mental vegetable, ruined from days of constant torment. The only thing left was to rebuild her mind into the perfect slave, uncompromising in her obedience.

Noah strode into the room and stood beside Dr. Suchong. The aged Chinese watched Subject Amber silently. The experiment room was heavily padded with sound-proof panels. Inside the room was a single chair reminiscent of a terrifying dentist appointment. Subject S-148 was strapped and bound to the dentist chair tightly by leather straps. Her golden eyes were held open by thin metal bars. Amber's head was tilted back and trapped in a powerful vice gripped tightly to her misshapen skull. A dreadful contraption with needle points were poised directly over her eyeballs, dripping eye drops in regular intervals to keep her eyes from drying out. And in front of her face was a giant projection screen. The screen showed the same psychedelic hypnotic images with heavy subliminal undertones. Giant speakers were hooked up in every corner of the room. The wooden panels were shaking with the sheer ferocity of the disorienting racket booming from the speakers. Audio and visual attacks on the mind working in tandem were proving most effective.

Finally tearing his eyes away from the diclonius in the adjacent room, Noah turned to face Dr. Suchong. "How soon will she be ready for deployment?" queried Brimstrome. The Chinese doctor didn't look at Noah, but kept his eyes fixated on the diclonii's body. After a moment of silence, the doctor replied "Subject Amber prolonged the process when she fought back. We are severely behind schedule. Unfortunately, we can't possibly speed up the programming. Not unless you want to run the risk of error."

"How long until Subject S-148 is ready for deployment?" repeated Noah in an irritated tone. He didn't appreciate how familiar the doctor was becoming with the diclonius. Whenever someone began to use a diclonii's given name, it was showing weakness. It was showing that the person was dropping their guard. Lima syndrome was one of the biggest threats the facility faced. Anyone who openly expressed sympathy for the diclonii was immediately terminated from their job. Of course, since the existence of diclonius is TOP SECRET under penalty of treason, any diclonius sympathizers get thrown into a cell occupied by one of the diclonii. Nobody ever expresses sympathy twice. Noah thought that the punishment was perfect. He was a great fan of tragic irony.

Doctor Suchong spoke "Five weeks."

"I don't have five weeks. We don't have five weeks. Is there any way we could cut it down to two weeks?"

Doctor Suchong looked alarmed, "That would severely compromise the stability of the programming. We already rushed her conditioning. She was supposed to be a perfect clean slate. The landscape of her mind was supposed to be empty. But listen, she still has some residual memories."

The doctor thumbed a button on the console and the soundproof panels stopped rattling. The adjacent room suddenly became dark and silent. Noah could no longer see the diclonius. Then Doctor Suchong flipped a switch and turned on the two-way speakers. Finally the Chinese doctor snatched up the microphone and spoke one non-English word into it.

_"Nakama."_

Instantly, an unholy sound erupted from the speakers. It was so loud and terrible that Noah had to clap his hands over his ears. The unearthly clamor grew louder and higher and more agonized until Noah thought that he would be deafened. Then Dr. Suchong flicked the switch for the speakers and the room became mercifully silent. Somber eyes stared at Noah as he tried to straighten his tie with shaking hands.

Finally getting a hold of himself, Noah spoke "Th-that was..."

"That was Amber screaming." interrupted Dr. Suchong. The lights reactivated in the adjacent room. When Noah peered inside, he sucked in a gasp. Amber was standing in the middle of the room, free from her leather bonds. The leather straps had been severed by her vectors, but in order to do so Amber had sliced open her own body as well. Blood ran in thick streams down her forearms and pooled around her feet. Her lovely blonde hair was red and wet. The projector screen had been sliced to ribbons and many of the soundproof panels had been torn off the wall. Amber stared at the one-way mirror with dead eyes, mindlessly glazed over. She had thankfully reverted back to her vegetable state of mind before any real damage had been inflicted.

"It appears like we'll have to move her again." Noah remarked. He noticed a number of broken soundproof panels piled under the one-way mirror. The diclonius probably tried to break through the mirror with the panels during her tantrum. Fortunately, she didn't have time to use the chair itself before she reverted.

Dr. Suchong scowled "Do you even understand the significance of what just happened?"

"Yes, I understand that she's managed to remember a little bit of Japanese. And yes, this could possibly disrupt the stability of her programming in the long run. But as you've just demonstrated, the important stuff is still in place. I still don't have five weeks and I need her before two have passed. If you must sacrifice long-term stability, then you must. We don't need Subject S-148 to operate for a long time, just long enough to capture Subject D-1."

Dr. Suchong argued "I can't guarantee even short term obedience under two weeks! You're asking too much! Even a single small memory means we can't write over that part of her brain. What if we can't write in the human civility program because she remembers her mother's face? Or what if her mission parameters are erased because Amber suddenly remembers her own name? Noah, we need to give her more time to accept all the programs! You're playing with fire and you're going to get us all burned!"

Jeremiah Fontenot had spoken those same words. Noah couldn't stand such mindless rhetoric. It was obvious that the good doctor was casting doubt on him. Suchong needed to be reminded about his own stake in this whole mess.

"Don't forget Dr. Suchong, Subject S-148 is your responsibility. If she can't perform on the field, then you aren't doing your job right. If you're so worried about time, then don't waste any more with needless demonstrations. That diclonius must be presentable to the Director within two weeks. Your neck is on the block right beside my own."

With that, Noah Brimstrome turned on his heel to walk out of the room. For a split-second, Amber's yellow eyes locked with his and he could almost swear he saw a flash of hatred pass over her dead expression. But that was impossible; she was on the wrong side of a one-way mirror. Noah dismissed it and walked out of the room. The metal door slid shut with a serpentine hiss.

Now desperate to reach the surface, Noah almost ran to the main freight elevator. Before he reached the lift, he was intercepted by a young lab assistant. "Mr. Brimstrome! I need to deliver something to you!" he called out. Noah could feel a cluster headache building between his eyes, but be turned to face the man anyways. The man spoke fast, "I was told you were expecting these papers." Then he turned over a slim vanilla envelope and deposited it into Noah's hands. Then the young man nodded and walked away.

Noah didn't open the files until he was safe inside the giant metal cage. He slid his I.D. card through a digital reader and thumbed the button for the surface. There was only one camera in the elevator, so Noah turned his back to the prying lenses. He reached into an interior pocket and pulled out a small pill canister. Noah dropped two of his headache "medications", then two more, and threw them into his mouth like a madman.

With the cluster headache receding, Noah turned his attention to the file. He opened it up and skim-read through the paper. Noah had developed a fine art in speed-reading. He only looked at the white margins and then followed them down. Anything important would be caught by peripheral vision. One thing jumped out at him out of the corner of his eye and it almost made the whole trip worthwhile.

_" Proto. AV Eq. approved. Delivery in five to seven business days."_

Noah slipped the papers back into the vanilla envelope. Everything was falling into place, but not in the right order or in the right configuration. It would take a great deal of micromanaging and manipulation to see the fulfillment of his master plan. There was only one variable, one thing that Noah had no control over. But it was only a matter of time before Subject D-1 was back in Noah's hands. Only a matter of time before Noah could put Michael through as many painful experiments as he desired.

* * *

End Chapter Eighteen: Partner

I just threw so many jigsaw pieces at you that I'm almost worried that I'm spoiling my story. But taking risks like this is what makes writing a story exciting. So can you figure it out? What will become of our young Byronic hero? What does the nefarious Noah have in store for Michael Mordare? I have slipped in a number of hidden pieces of the puzzle. Find them and watch the story bloom like a black rose.

Next Chapter: Michael's insanity lays down the terms and Hawker is on the case.


	19. Precept of Insanity

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: I want to hear from my readers their opinion about Michael Mordare. What is your interpretation about him? Is he a sympathetic mutant, driven to insanity by loneliness and anguish? Is he an irredeemable murderer, a complete monster that's just killing people to satisfy his anger? My interpretation may be different from yours, but I'm not going to refute anyone's opinion. My opinion might not be any closer to the truth than you own.

I don't care how you choose to view Michael. But I won't believe any interpretation of Samael that isn't pure fucking Chaotic Evil.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Nineteen: The Precept of Insanity_

I stuck the needle into my left ring fingertip. The needle tore a small hole in my skin. The pain was tolerable. I watched as a small red bead appeared on the lip of the hole. As time passed, the bead began to grow larger and fatter. An eternity passed until the bead of blood looked impossibly large and round, trembling as the translucent skin grew thinner and thinner. Finally, the bead dropped off my finger and fell onto the mattress beside its many brothers and sisters. The red stain merged with another stain on the sheets, creating a chain of blood stains that stretched all over the filthy rags.

I stuck the needle into my left pinky again and watched myself bleed.

There he was, watching with dark blue eyes. Sitting in the corner of the room, bandaged from the neck down, was the mirage of my madness. He silently stared at me with my own face. Was anything my own anymore? I switched the needle to my left hand and plunged the point into my right thumb. My fingers were already wrinkled with irreparable burn scars. What would a few pokes do now? I could hardly feel the pain; the act of burning my fingerprints off had damaged the pain receptors. I could barely hold a pencil and running my fingers over a rough surface hardly registered a thing. I was pinching the needle so hard that my knuckles had turned white.

Finally, Samael spoke _**"W**__h__**at**__ a__**r**__e __**yo**__u do__**ing**__? __**S**__t__**o**__p it. __**Y**__o__**u**__ a__**ren**__'t __**mak**__in__**g**__ a__**ny**__ s__**ens**__e. __**St**__o__**p hurting**__ yo__**ur**__se__**lf."**_

Another bead of blood dropped from my thumb and stained the sheet. Was I making any sense? Probably not. But the needle tore another hole in my index finger. The sting felt like a scream from a great distance. I kept the needle in my finger and started to make a fist. This would punch the needle straight through the under-nail. Would the pain be intense? Only one way to figure that out.

"_**Do**__n'__**t**__ d__**o it**__. Y__**ou**__ a__**ren**__'t __**doi**__n__**g**__ a__**nyt**__h__**in**__g b__**u**__t h__**u**__r__**t**__i__**ng**__ y__**ou**__rs__**el**__f. __**Ar**__e y__**ou**__ t__**ryi**__ng to __**p**__un__**ish**__ y__**our**__se__**lf**__? A__**r**__e __**yo**__u t__**ryin**__g to __**hurt me? **__I __**do**__n't __**e**__v__**e**__n f__**ee**__l the __**pain!"**_

I stopped and thought. That was it, wasn't it? He couldn't feel the pain. The pain was mine. It was something I could call my own. I pulled the needle out of my finger and began to roll it between my thumb and index.

He had invaded my mind. He had invaded my body. He had invaded my _self._ I had nothing to call my own anymore. My thoughts were no longer private. My ideas were plagiarized and twisted. My mind was no longer my sanctuary. It has been plundered and filled with HIM. There was nothing to call my own anymore.

Nothing but the pain.

So I had to treasure what I had alone. It was my private property. It was mine and mine alone. Samael couldn't invade it. He couldn't steal it. He wouldn't understand it. And he certainly can't fill it with his poison. The only thing I could hold onto is the pain. So I held onto it like a barb-wired chain, sinking into the Redness instead of the Darkness.

The needle slipped out of my mutilated fingers and clicked against the cold floor. The tip of the needle was red with my blood. My hands were red with my blood. I held up my hands and turned my palms toward Samael.

"This, this is my blood. This is not yours. I will fight you to the death for my blood and my pain and my body!"

Suddenly the Boy tilted his head back and laughed so hard. Samael's entire body convulsed. And then instantly he was quiet and towering in front of me. His eyes were hard and merciless, glaring down at me. I turned my head up and met his glare. The Boy kneeled down in front of me, our eyes still locked. Samael's voice was like death and wrath speaking simultaneously.

"_**Y**__o__**u**__ r__**ea**__ll__**y**__ t__**hin**__k __**yo**__u c__**a**__n __**b**__ea__**t**__ m__**e? D**__o __**yo**__u __**real**__ly __**wa**__nt __**t**__o __**st**__ak__**e**__ y__**ou**__r d__**om**__in__**ati**__o__**n**__ on __**a**__ fig__**ht?**__ I'__**m**__ re__**ad**__y t__**o g**__o __**if you**__ a__**re**__. __**W**__i__**nn**__e__**r**__ t__**ak**__es __**all**__, __**l**__o__**se**__r __**ce**__as__**es**__ to __**exist. **__**I**__'__**d **__**l**__i__**ke**__ t__**ha**__t, r__**e**__al__**ly**__ I w__**o**__u__**ld**__. __**So**__, a__**re**__ y__**o**__u __**goi**__ng __**all in?"**_

Did I have a chance against him? I didn't know. I just wasn't sure. Uncertainty crept in like a virus and ate away at my confidence.

What did I have? The only thing I had was pain. He had power. He had overwhelming power. He was my killer instincts, my fighting spirit, my hatred, and craving rolled into one. Samael leaned in and whispered in my ear, _**"Are you ready to die?"**_

I don't think I can beat him. He was severe and pitiless. I am frail and uncertain. I was programmed for flight over fight. What was I getting myself in to? Maybe I shouldn't… maybe I shouldn't…

I looked away. I couldn't look into his bloodthirsty eyes anymore. Blue conquered red. With a disgusted snort, Samael stood up to his full height. He had won without there even being a fight.

"_**Yo**__u __**w**__a__**n**__t t__**o**__ kn__**ow**__ t__**he**__ di__**ffe**__re__**nc**__e __**b**__e__**tw**__e__**e**__n yo__**u**__ a__**nd**__ m__**e**__? __**I**__ c__**a**__n __**su**__m __**it**__ a__**ll**__ up __**i**__n __**on**__e __**wo**__rd: __**Resolve. **__**It**__'s __**resolve**__ t__**h**__a__**t**__ ch__**an**__g__**e**__s t__**he**__ w__**or**__l__**d**__. I__**t**__s __**resolve**__ t__**ha**__t __**tu**__rn__**s**__ s__**p**__i__**nele**__s__**s **__a__**nd**__ fr__**ai**__l f__**ool**__s __**in**__to __**war**__lor__**ds**__. I__**t'**__s __**wh**__at y__**ou**__ a__**r**__e se__**ver**__el__**y**__ la__**ck**__i__**ng**__."_

Samael thrust an accusing finger at my face. Then he turned his palms up and began to pace madly while delivering his sermon._ "__**Yo**__u h__**av**__e __**n**__o __**pro**__bl__**em**__ si__**tti**__n__**g**__ i__**n**__ a __**so**__f__**t**__ co__**mfor**__ta__**bl**__e ch__**air**_ _i__**n**__ a __**qu**__i__**e**__t __**li**__br__**ary**__, __**th**__i__**n**__k__**ing**__ a__**bo**__u__**t**__ h__**ow**__ to __**ki**__ll __**hu**__m__**an**__s. __**Bu**__t __**w**__h__**en**__ y__**o**__u __**ge**__t t__**he**__ c__**h**__a__**nc**__e, y__**ou**__ su__**dde**__n__**l**__y st__**art**__ t__**o**__ t__**h**__i__**nk**__. __**An**__d __**wh**__en __**y**__o__**u**__ t__**hi**__n__**k**__, __**yo**__u __**st**__ar__**t**__ t__**o**__ d__**ou**__b__**t**__ yo__**ur**__s__**el**__f. __**An**__d __**w**__h__**e**__n y__**ou**__ do__**ubt**__, y__**ou**__ s__**h**__r__**ivel**__ u__**p**__ l__**ik**__e __**a prune**__.__**"**_

The Boy knelt down and glared at me straight in the eyes. His sallow fingers held my chin with a cold steel grip. I couldn't look away from his bloodthirsty eyes. I stared into the Abyss.

_And the Abyss stared into me._

Samael released my chin roughly and stepped back. His eyes shone cerulean with madness.

**"**_**Th**__in__**k**__ b__**a**__c__**k**__ t__**o**__ a__**ll**__ t__**h**__o__**s**__e __**a**__r__**me**__d so__**ldi**__er__**s**__ y__**ou**__ s__**laughter**__ed __**li**__k__**e**__ s__**wi**__n__**e**__. __**How**__ we__**re**__ y__**o**__u __**a**__b__**le**__ to __**do**__ t__**ha**__t__**? **__**B**__e__**ca**__u__**se**__ yo__**u**__ d__**i**__d__**n't**__ t__**hin**__k __**a**__b__**out**__ k__**illi**__n__**g**__ t__**he**__m, __**you just did it!"**_

The Boy paced furiously around the room, contorting his ashen fingers in wild gestures. He tugged hard at the bandages around his arms, but for some reason they didn't tear.

**"**_W__**hat**__'s t__**he**__ d__**iff**__er__**en**__c__**e**__ b__**etw**__e__**en**__ ki__**lli**__ng __**an**__ ar__**med**__ h__**u**__m__**a**__n __**th**__a__**t**__ w__**an**__ts __**to**__ k__**il**__l __**yo**__u __**an**__d __**kil**__li__**n**__g __**a**__n __**unar**__med __**hu**__m__**an**__ t__**ha**__t __**w**__a__**n**__t__**s**__ y__**ou**__ de__**ad**__? __**Eve**__r__**y**__ h__**uma**__n __**is**__ y__**ou**__r __**en**__e__**my**__, __**e**__v__**ery**__ s__**in**__g__**le**__ l__**as**__t __**on**__e __**o**__f __**them**__. __**F**__r__**o**__m t__**he**__ a__**rm**__e__**d**__ s__**ol**__d__**ier**__s t__**o**__ t__**he**__ bu__**sin**__e__**ssm**__en __**to**__ t__**h**__e __**young**__e__**s**__t __**baby**__, __**th**__ey __**ar**__e a__**ll**__ y__**our**__ e__**ne**__m__**ies**__! __**The**__y __**wa**__nt __**you dead**__, __**y**__o__**u**__ s__**h**__ou__**ld**__ w__**an**__t __**th**__e__**m**__ de__**ad**__! __**Wh**__y a__**re**__ y__**o**__u __**so**__ be__**nt**__ u__**p**__ on __**th**__in__**kin**__g __**ab**__o__**u**__t __**it!**__ Ju__**st**__ k__**ill**__ t__**he**__m a__**nd ki**__ll __**the**__m w__**it**__h __**a smile."**_

It was my turn to protest. "That's just it, I don't enjoy killing humans. It's just—just too hard to get angry at every single one of them. I hate one human in particular, not all of them. I'm not like you; I don't take pleasure in bloody murders. Don't get me wrong, I loathe those over glorified apes intensely. But killing them takes a different kind odium. It takes a sort of insanity to hate them all. I'm not insane. I'm—I'm just not insane. I couldn't be..."

Samael sneered _**"S**__a__**ys**__ t__**h**__e __**Boy**__ t__**al**__k__**in**__g __**t**__o s__**om**__eo__**n**__e t__**ha**__t __**on**__ly __**h**__e c__**an**__ s__**ee**__ a__**n**__d __**hea**__r.__**"**_

He scoffed as he turned around. Samael gaily threw his hands into the air while spinning. Just when I thought it was safe to breathe, he was in my face again with more hatred and rage than before.

"_**Y**__o__**u**__ ha__**ve**__ e__**ve**__ry __**ri**__g__**ht**__ t__**o**__ h__**at**__e e__**v**__e__**ry**__ s__**in**__g__**le**__ h__**uma**__n. __**Loo**__k __**a**__t __**you**__rs__**el**__f; yo__**u'r**__e j__**ust**__ a__**s**__ f__**uc**__ke__**d**__ u__**p**__ a__**s**__ t__**h**__e __**res**__t __**of th**__e__**m**__. __**All**__ y__**ou**__r __**lif**__e __**yo**__u'__**v**__e __**b**__e__**en**__ h__**eld**__ h__**ost**__a__**g**__e __**aw**__ay __**f**__ro__**m**__ t__**he**__ g__**re**__a__**t **__**big wo**__rl__**d**__. __**F**__r__**om**__ b__**ir**__t__**h**__ y__**ou**__'__**v**__e __**be**__en __**h**__i__**dde**__n __**a**__w__**ay**__ i__**n **__**the Darkness**__, __**li**__ke __**a**__ sh__**ame**__f__**ul**__ s__**e**__c__**re**__t.__** Li**__k__**e **__a __**mis**__ta__**k**__e. __**You**__ h__**av**__e __**se**__en th__**ese**__ g__**odd**__a__**mn**__ f__**a**__m__**ilie**__s, __**laug**__h__**in**__g a__**nd**__ b__**ei**__n__**g**__ h__**app**__y __**an**__d j__**us**__t __**fuck**__in__**g**__ ar__**ou**__n__**d**__ l__**ik**__e t__**h**__e__**re**__ w__**asn**__'t__** a**__ p__**r**__o__**b**__l__**e**__m __**in the world**__. __**Why**__ c__**ou**__ld__**n**__'__**t**__ y__**ou**__ ha__**ve**__ g__**ot**__t__**e**__n a __**fam**__il__**y**__ l__**ik**__e __**tha**__t? __**In**__s__**t**__e__**ad**__ y__**ou**__ a__**r**__e __**hel**__d __**ca**__p__**ti**__ve an__**d**__ s__**tu**__f__**fed**__ i__**nt**__o __**th**__e __**lo**__n__**el**__y __**corner**__. __**Wh**__a__**t**__'s __**w**__o__**rse**__, y__**ou**__ w__**er**__e __**left**__ b__**e**__h__**in**__d __**by**__ t__**ha**__t __**bast**__ar__**d**__ o__**f**__ a __**father**__.__** He**__ w__**a**__s __**too**__ a__**sha**__m__**e**__d __**of**__ yo__**u**__ to __**st**__a__**y**__.__**"**_

Something snapped in my head. I took a wild swing at Samael's smug face. Instantly the Darkness swept me off my feet. I fell for a short distance before landing heavily on the cold floor of the now-familiar Theater. In front of me stood Samael, a sinister smile filled with canine teeth stretched tight across his face.

"_**Oh**__, __**a**__r__**e**__ y__**ou**__ re__**ad**__y __**t**__o __**f**__i__**g**__h__**t**__ n__**ow?**__ B__**ut **__**I**__ w__**a**__s __**ju**__st __**get**__ti__**n**__g to __**th**__e __**goo**__d p__**art…**__ a__**bo**__ut __**tha**__t __**bitch**__ y__**ou**__ c__**al**__l __**Mot**__h__**er**__—__**"**_

"SHUT UP!" I screamed as loud as I could. I could only see the Redness. I jumped to my feet and tore across the floor as fast as I could toward that motherfucker. My vectors sprang from my back and shot out toward him. All thirteen of my hands hands reached for his goddamn throat, inches away from tearing out his fucking voice box.

Suddenly Samael was gone. I didn't even see him jump. The only thing I heard was my own screaming and a sudden _whoosh_ as he passed over my head. In fact, the only warning I got was his shadow crossing my eyes. My head snapped up as Samael somersaulted above me, a strip of bandage trailed behind him. He held both ends of the band in his hands. I twisted my neck around to keep an eye on my doppelganger.

That was the moment I lost.

The length of bandage snarled into a loop over my head. I didn't see the danger until the bandage loop drifted down over my shoulders. At that instant, I realized the purpose of the wrapping. I saw Samael pull sharply on the ends of the bandage. Before I could react, the strip of wrapping drew itself around my neck and snapped tight. I tried to suck in a breath, but the band was squeezing my windpipe closed. I clawed at the strip, but it was cut deeply into my skin and I couldn't grab a hold of it. Not even my vectors could grab it; they slid off my skin as though it were oiled. My lungs burned with need.

Samael stepped behind me and put his foot against the back of my neck. His heel jabbed against my nape and his foot pushed my head forward. My lungs felt like they were on fire. He threw his weight forward and stomped my forehead against the floor with an ear shattering crack. The pain splintered my head like a nail through my skull. Black stars exploded in my head and my vision became a smear. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't form my vectors. I couldn't fight. I couldn't-

"_**Ar**__e __**yo**__u g__**oi**__n__**g**__ t__**o**__ s__**to**__p __**st**__ru__**gg**__l__**in**__g __**an**__d __**l**__e__**t**__ m__**e**__ t__**al**__k__**? **__**O**__r __**am**__**I**__ g__**oin**__g __**t**__o __**ha**__ve __**to**__ g__**e**__t __**s**__e__**r**__i__**ous**__.__**"**_

I cracked my eyes open and Samael glared into my blood-red lenses. It felt like my lungs were on fire, so I nodded weakly. Samael leaned back and loosened the bandage ever so slightly. I sucked in a breath of cold air as fast as I could. A warm trickle of blood ran down from my forehead. It followed the stress lines beside my nose and dripped off my chin. It was astonishingly red. My arms felt like lead weights. I was so tired I could hardly form a coherent thought.

"_**Yo**__u__**r**__ m__**om**__ w__**a**__s __**su**__c__**h**__ a __**weak**__ t__**wa**__t. __**Sh**__e __**c**__ou__**ldn**__'t __**st**__a__**n**__d __**to**__ s__**ee**__ y__**o**__u__**r**__ h__**ea**__d. __**Ho**__w __**ma**__ny __**ti**__m__**e**__s __**ha**__s __**s**__h__**e**__ dr__**unk**__e__**nl**__y __**ho**__l__**le**__r__**e**__d __**at**__ y__**ou**__ t__**o**__ g__**e**__t __**aw**__ay fr__**om**__ h__**er?**__ Ho__**w**__ m__**an**__y __**c**__ol__**d**__ ni__**ght**__s __**di**__d y__**ou**__ la__**y**__ a__**w**__a__**ke**__ as __**sh**__e __**w**__e__**p**__t l__**oud**__ly __**in**__ h__**e**__r __**s**__le__**ep**__? __**Eve**__ry t__**im**__e __**y**__o__**u**__ l__**oo**__k__**e**__d __**at**__ h__**e**__r, __**sh**__e wa__**s**__ s__**ta**__ri__**n**__g __**at**__ t__**he**__ b__**ott**__o__**m**__ o__**f**__ a __**bot**__tl__**e**__, t__**r**__y__**in**__g __**t**__o __**com**__mi__**t**__ s__**low**__ s__**u**__i__**cid**__e. __**Ho**__w __**mu**__ch __**bet**__te__**r**__ w__**o**__u__**ld**__ y__**ou**__r __**life**__ h__**ad**__ b__**e**__e__**n**__ i__**f**__ s__**h**__e __**ha**__d j__**ust**__ g__**one**__ t__**hro**__u__**gh**__ w__**ith**__ i__**t?**__ T__**he**__ b__**e**__st __**thi**__ng __**S**__ar__**ah**__ e__**ve**__r __**di**__d f__**o**__r __**yo**__u __**wa**__s __**DIE!"**_

Was—was he right? Was anything that Samael said untrue? How many days did I stay inside in my room, looking outside from my bedroom window? How many nights were wasted, praying for my dad to take me away from that hell? Except… except that Dad…

Dad did take me away from that hell. And he took Mom too. And our lives got better. And Mom got help for her drinking problem. And I did attend school (not everything is perfect), make friend, and learn to open up. I was happier and had good times. My blackened childhood ended and I had some great years. I remember the good times my parents shared with me. I remember the joy when I learned I would be a brother. The anticipation was great as I waited for my baby sister. I remember all the hopes and dreams that were so close.

But now they're gone. They were taken from me when I was so happy. My parents are dead, my sister was aborted, and there's nothing that'll change that. Samael won't poison the memories of my family. Memories are the only thing I have left of them. He won't fill them with his toxic words, smearing the black over the white. I loved my Mother and Father, and nothing will ever change that.

Salty tears mixed with blood fell from my chin. Samael stepped off my head and kneeled down before me. His blue eyes were filled with… something… unreadable. He pulled hard at the bandages around his skin, yet they still didn't tear. I struggled to my feet by myself. I glared at him with all my might.

"You don't about my parents again. I loved them and I still love them. Keep your venom out of their memories. They may not have been perfect, they may have been human, but they were my parents. I don't care if I have to kill a hundred humans every night. I will have my revenge for their lives and my own. You're right, I have been too wishy-washy. I have let my resolve waver. I have been weak. But that's fucking over. I don't need you to kill humans for me. I'll massacre them myself."

At that moment, the bandages around Samael's arm tore off. He looked down and a sick smile spread across his pallid face. It would take me a long time to figure out the significance of what just happened. But that was the last thing on my fevered mind. It felt like the left side of my brain was hot, an unexplainable awareness. Suddenly I was in my apartment again. Samael's grin was suspended in the air like a Cheshire cat's smile, before it too vanished.

I looked out my window toward the setting sun. How long had I been in the theater? It hadn't felt like that long. I didn't feel physically tired, only mentally tired; like after a long school test. I felt my forehead with my hand, but didn't find any open gash. Apparently no injuries inflicted in the theater carry over into reality. For a moment I was afraid of a 'your mind makes it real' situation.

Had I just prevailed over Samael? My memories of my parents were intact, free from the Boy's sinister influence. But for some reason, I couldn't help but feel as though I had lost something important. For some reason, I felt as though it was a Pyrrhic victory. Something had been taken from me, something that I had been holding onto desperately. I couldn't put my finger on it. I shook my head to clear my mind. I felt sharper and lighter, as though a weight had been taken off my shoulders. With a thought, an ethereal vector emerged and pushed open the apartment window. The night was crossing over the blue like a dark virus, consuming all the light in the world.

There was work to be done, men to be butchered. There wasn't anything holding me back anymore.

Not a thing.

* * *

End Chapter Nineteen: The Precept of Insanity

Well, that took entirely too long to write. This was one chapter that just didn't want to stick to the plan. I had to bend it over my knee and spank it like a naughty, naughty girl. Figuratively speaking of course. I don't know when I'm going to get a new chapter out. May you be satisfied with this chapter. It's got all the things you want: Michael flip-flopping like a politician, Samael talking, more Samael talking, Samael beating the living shit out of Michael, then more Samael talking, and Michael reaffirming his dark path. It's Christmas for the whole lot of ya!

Good lord, Samael could give Hannibal Lector a run for his money. If he makes another multi-paragraph speech again, I'm turning him into a mute! Don't hit me Samael, it was just a joke! It was just a joke! Please stop hitting me…

(sob)


	20. Hawk Takes Flight

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: For the record, I am no expert about how crime scene investigation works in real life. I basically take everything I learned by watching television and threw it out the window. I figured I'd be able to get more accurate results that way. Any helpful pointers would be appreciated. Seriously I'm flying blindfolded trying to land a Boeing 747 on a mountain peak.

**Author's Notes** (**con.**): This chapter is only available thanks to the hard work of both my beta readers: VideoSpud and Shade40. Thank you for helping me get this chapter up to my strict standard. Give a round of applause to these fine gentlemen!

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twenty: Hawk Takes Flight  
_

Agent Jessica Hawker held her pistol straight out in front of her body. The pistol was aimed directly at a hanging paper target shaped in the silhouette of a man. Jessica liked to imagine the target as a gunman, pointing a rifle at her. The gunman was thirty feet away, just inside her "kill-zone", the distance where Jessica had above 90% accuracy. Jessica spread her legs shoulder-width apart and squared her shoulders. She lined up the barrel and the target with one eye and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

Even with protective earmuffs on, the blast sounded very loud. Jessica saw the paper target shiver slightly as the bullet passed through it. She lined up the shot and fired again.

BANG!

As she practiced shooting, Jessica thought back to her findings on the fires. As to be expected, there was no evidence pointing toward foul play. Anything would have been lost in the fire. However, the investigation was able to narrow down the beginning of the blaze to one house. The entire building had been completely devoured, not even the skeleton of the house remaining. Whether or not it was connected to the "explosions" or the armored truck had yet to be seen. Still, Jessica wasn't satisfied and decided to look up information on the families lost in the two fires. The Doe family was the one who perished in the second fire. There were only two members in the house; their children had all moved out long ago. Steve and Margaret both had completely clean backgrounds, sans a couple of minor traffic violations. There was no history of domestic abuse, alcohol abuse, or any abuse whatsoever. Their medical records were as open as a book. At least they had a last will and testament, dividing their money between their two children.

BANG!

The trouble started with the Mordares, the first family who died in the fire. There were three family members: Tony, Sarah, and Michael. They had a considerably spottier history, with abandonment, incomplete divorce papers, a single case of driving under the influence of alcohol, and a narrowly avoided case of child negligence. The mother was reportedly in AA, although with the anonymity rule the group couldn't divulge whether this was true or not. There was no family or next of kin to speak of.

BANG!

The actual trouble lay in the family's medical records, or lack thereof. In fact, the Mordares had no recent medical reports whatsoever. The last medical record that Jessica could dig up was over sixteen years ago, before their child was born. Michael Mordare didn't have a birth certificate or medical insurance, which led to many legal questions about Michael's schooling and physical examinations. There were no psyche evaluations or bone growth charts or – heck - even fingerprints! Jessica had called the last family doctor the Mordares had, and the doctor said that they said that they were going to switch over to a different medical insurance agency with a different doctor specializing in another field of pregnancy. He never heard from them again after Michael was born.

BANG!

Out of frustration, Jessica kept going. She looked up his school and spoke to the principal of DeVilbiss. When she requested Michael's school records, the man said that their entire records system was down and had been for the past week. He said that every student's record had been erased and that they were currently rebuilding the system back up from scratch. The poor man sounded almost tearful when Jessica inquired about back-ups, with the same negative response.

BANG!

The only thing that had the Mordare name was their auto insurance through State Auto. They only had one car, since Sarah Mordare's driver's license had been revoked after her DWI. The father, Tony, drove a red Saturn. Now, after the family's death, State Auto had gone ahead and canceled their insurance policy, so they didn't even have their name there anymore.

BANG!

There was no information on their house mortgages, medical insurance, school records, or bank records. The Mordares didn't have any bank accounts in any known banks. Sarah didn't have a job and Tony was employed through a third-party staffing company that Jessica hadn't been able to find the name of and couldn't discover what it was.

BANG!

On top of the whole thing, the Mordares apparently didn't pay their taxes. Their taxes had been paid through a third-party. The whole thing was a bureaucratic nightmare. An entire family, living under the radar, right in the middle of Toledo. Given that Michael Mordare's school records were erased coincidentally, he might as well have been homeschooled. Jessica thought it was far too coincidental that the Mordare kid's record was among the files erased.

Jessica began to reload more rounds into the gun. She kept thinking as she thumbed each bullet into the clip.

There hadn't been a funeral for them. Only three small gravestones paid by a third party were laid on the ground in remembrance of their lives. Nobody mourned their passing. If it weren't for the newspaper, Jessica wouldn't have even known about it. No wonder their article in the obituaries was so short; the author probably couldn't get any more information than Jessica could. _Hang on; didn't that story have a picture? _Jessica wondered where the author had dug that up from and made a mental note to contact him later.

Jessica loaded the last bullet into the gun. She grabbed the wheel beside her and rotated it so that the paper target came to her. Seven out of eight bullets were right on the mark. The eighth bullet was a couple centimeters off. She replaced the target and wheeled it all the way to the forty-foot distance. This was going to be much trickier…

Suddenly someone tapped Jessica on the shoulder. She turned around and saw Chief Isaac standing behind her. Jessica slid her earmuffs off and put down the pistol, barrel pointing down the range. Jessica had already filled the Chief in with the details before she went to the firing range.

The Chief spoke first. "You garner anything new from the bullet holes?"

"Nope, I'm still no closer to understanding this case. I don't understand why a family, which was apparently trying to stay off the grid, would let their child enroll in a public school. And I don't get why - or how - the school's records were destroyed around the time the kid died."

The Chief raised an eyebrow at that last fragment. "I understand your suspicions about the school records being wiped. But you are just speculating again. You need to have firm proof that the Mordares were doing something illegal before you can open this up as an official case. Lack of evidence is not evidence.

"Anyways, I'm here to tell you that your investigation is going to be put on the back burner. We've just got a report about a triple homicide case. Since you aren't making any progress with your project, I want you to take lead detective on this case. Follow me."

Isaac walked out of the range and Jessica followed behind him. "The Missing Persons Department had a missing person's report filed just this morning. An old man's wife had gone visiting her eldest son and daughter-in-law last night. She never came home. So naturally a local policeman visited the house in search of the woman. That's where he found the three bodies. No more action has been taken. A forensics team is en route to the scene. They'll tell you more than I can."

* * *

Jessica and Isaac went their separate ways at the lobby. Jessica jumped in her car in the parking lot and drove off. Thirty minutes of driving later and she arrived at a formerly peaceful high-class neighborhood. Three police cars were already parked in front of the house. There was a long band of yellow and black tape squaring off the site for investigators. The first thing Jessica observed was the god-awful green color of the house. The second she noticed was the young policeman squatting outside the boundaries with his head between his knees. He looked positively green to the gills, breathing deeply.

Detective Hawker flashed her silver badge to a police officer before ducking under the yellow tape. As soon as she stood upright, she was approached by the Lead Forensics Investigator, Richard Herman. He was a charming man with a light tan and long black hair tied up in a ponytail. While on a scene, Richard had to wear a hairnet to ensure his locks didn't accidentally brush anything and contaminate the crime scene. Here, however, instead of the traditional hairnet, Richard was wearing a white full-body anti-contamination suit. He had the white hood pulled back as he duck-walked over to her. If Richard had to be wearing a full-body suit, then whatever was in there must be beyond anything Jessica had imagined.

Richard spoke first. "God, if I never have to wear this suit again, it'll be too soon. I know I bitch about fieldwork because of the itchy hairnet thing, but this is ten times worse! You're going to need a suit as well; it's just plain awful in there."

"How bad is it really?"

"You know that episode of Dexter in season one, where there's a room full of blood and no bodies? And even Dexter freaked out about how nasty it was? Except he wasn't freaking about the blood, but just about how much it reminded him about—"

Richard tended to ramble. Jessica cut him off.

"I don't watch any crime drama shows. I've always hated the inaccuracies."

"Okay, sorry. This is at least two rooms full of blood and three bodies, all of them butchered like nothing I've ever seen before. I can't even believe it after I've seen it! All of the blood is in the hallway and the kitchen. The bodies are just in the kitchen, although there are some pieces of human organs in the hallway. The blood has coagulated and my boots keep getting stuck in it. It's very uncomfortable and smells worse than anything I've ever experienced. I'm going to go home and shower the top layer of my skin off. If it weren't cold out, I'd be sweating like a pig."

Richard really tended to ramble. Jessica arched an eyebrow. Richard immediately leaped back on track before Jessica's signature hawk-eye could fully develop.

"Alright, give me a suit."

Jessica followed Richard to his car where the suits were stored in his trunk. She pulled out a pair of black boots and white baggy pants. She removed her shoes and pulled the pants up to her waist. Not one to miss a chance at multitasking, Jessica drilled Richard as she suited up.

"Are there any bullet holes or casings?"

"None whatsoever. It doesn't look like guns were involved with any of this. We've got a crap-o-la of knives sticking out of one of the bodies. We're not sure about the rest of the victims, but it's pretty safe to say that we've got the murder weapons for at least one victim."

She slipped her feet into the boots and tied them up. Then she pulled out a white antistatic fiber jacket.

"Do we know the time of deaths?"

"Body temperatures and all that good stuff put the deaths between eight- and nine-thirty last night. The body on top of the pile was put between nine and nine-forty at night."

Richard held the jacket as Jessica slipped her arms into the sleeves. She zipped up the coat, then donned a pair of bulky grey gloves.

"Do we have any witnesses?"

"Sorry. The night of the murder there was a rainstorm like something fierce. Nobody even heard anything like screaming."

Finally, Jessica reached behind her head and pulled the white hood over her hair.

"We're going to have to canvas this neighborhood. Someone might have seen something."

"Not me, I'm just the forensics guy. You wanna' go in and see the bodies?"

A few minutes later and Jessica stepped into the house. The very first thing that hit her was the stench. Jessica swallowed a gag and kept looking. The entry hallway was like a picture from a horror movie. There was a huge pool of blood all around the floor, with more blood staining the walls. The blood made a noticeable trail where bodies had obviously been dragged out of the hallway and through the kitchen door. Every time Jessica took a step, the blood made a squelching sound and then popped.

Squelch-pop, squelch-pop, squelch-pop.

Every step made the horrible smell get worse. There were yellow plastic markers, each one numbered, and each one pointing out pieces of evidence. There were small footprints leading away from the blood-pool and the kitchen, turning out of sight toward the stairs. Jessica would follow those in a minute; first, she needed to see the bodies. She stepped through the door and into the kitchen.

Jessica couldn't stop herself from gasping out loud.

If the hallway was from a horror movie, then the kitchen was a work of art. The window shutters were drawn shut with sparse rays of sunlight streaming in. The bodies were piled one on top of the other in a half-hazard way. The blood was simply slathered all over the place. It was on the walls, the furniture, the counters, the cabinet doors… Everywhere. The corpse of the old woman was lying on top. There were twelve knife handles sticking out of her body, the blades buried in her all the way to the hilt. There were three knives set on the counter in evidence bags. Including Jessica and Richard, there were six suited people in the room. The other four were taking pictures of the crime-scene with high definition cameras. The pop and flare of the cameras only outlined the horrors in greater clarity.

She opened her mouth to try and speak, but all that came out was a halfhearted sigh. Then Jessica swallowed and tried to slip into the role of an ice-cold, impassive, and unaffected detective who'd seen it all before. But that mask was false. Jessica has never seen anything this… this brutal. There was something wholly animal about the entire scene, like an inhuman beast had stepped out of its Eldritch dimension and killed whatever it saw with extreme prejudice. It was easier to imagine that they were dealing with some godforsaken monstrosity from the movies. Jessica just didn't like to admit that this was a crime of man. It made her uncomfortable to know that there was undeniable evil lurking behind the masks of society, skulking in plain sight among the countless faces of an urban city.

Again she tried to speak. "What about fin-fingerprints on the knife handles?" Jessica struggled to keep the impassive detective persona intact. Richard shook his head.

"Sorry, we didn't get any fingerprints off the handles. They don't appear to have been wiped down though. I think the perpetrator wore gloves."

The implications made her blood run cold. This wasn't a crime of anger or impulse. The person responsible deliberately prepared for the kill, premeditated on the act, planned it out with a clear and lucid mind. This wasn't lurking evil, it had absolutely no uncertainties. The killer was not shouldering guilt in the slightest.

Richard looked at her and then pointed at the wall behind the pile of corpses. "Oh, and did you see the sign above them? I had to do a double-take because it just blew my mind."

Jessica followed Richard's pointed finger. At first, she didn't know what she was looking at. It looked like a weirdly misshapen dimple on the wall, about ten inches in width. Then when Richard pointed his flashlight directly into the depression, it became perfectly clear.

It was an open handprint in a solid wall. The fingers were splayed to their full width.

For a full second, Jessica was speechless. Richard turned in his suit and looked at Jessica.

"What do you make of this?" asked Richard, snapping Jessica out of her shock. She blinked and shrugged in her uncomfortable suit.

"I don't really know for sure, but it looks like some sort of gang symbol. Except instead of paint, the killer used… something that made this shape. Do you think someone could have used their own hand?"

"No way, an open palm imprint like this couldn't have been made by human hands. It is way too perfectly outlined to be just a random hole in a wall. And the strength required to put their hand in a wall is impossible for normal humans. In case you were going to ask, no fingerprints off that either. And that's not the worst of it."

"God, what else is there?" Jessica lamented, sounding more like a whine than she wanted.

"You see the knives we pulled out of the elderly lady's body? Those are cutting knives with a blunted point. They aren't designed to be stabbed into anything. So the fact that they were just means whoever put them there had to use a lot of force. Over and over again with all the knives, apparently. We're talking about one strong son of a bitch."

So, they were looking for someone with a lot of muscle, capable of slaughtering this many people, capable of planning this sort of devastation, and experienced enough to take steps to avoid leaving a fingerprint behind. This was sounding more and more like a recently released convict than anyone else. Since most convicts spend a lot of time exercising in prison, it was reasonable that they would leave with a well-built body.

"Oh wait, what do we have on the bloody shoeprints leading away from the hallway?" interjected Jessica.

"Those? Well, they are definitely the killer's shoeprints. Judging from the blood, it's obvious that the prints were made when the blood was still fresh and liquid. Not to mention the prints don't match any of our victims' shoes. I think that they're about a size 8. I'm not that good at judging shoe sizes, really."

Jessica decided to leave the kitchen and follow the blood trail. She exited the kitchen through a different door and stepped into a new room. Just as she was about to walk straight through and head for the shoeprints, something caught her eye. There was a phone sitting on a small table. But the phone was not straight on its cradle; it was hanging crooked. The phone wasn't making a sound, even though it was off the cradle. Jessica kneeled in her suit, grunting slightly, until she was close enough to discern the reason. The phone line had been severed.

"Hey, has anyone made any note of the phone?" Jessica called back behind her.

Richard's voice followed from around the corner. "What about what phone?"

"The phone over here has had its line cut. Somebody get over here and make sure this gets in the report."

With that taken care of, Jessica moved on to the blood trail. The shoe prints were oddly small compared to the image of a burly convict Jessica had in her mind. With every step, the prints became more faded. But they definitely led up some stairs. By the time she reached the top step, the blood faded completely. Jessica looked around, but there didn't seem to be anything disturbed upstairs. Why did the killer go upstairs?

Unable to find anything else, Jessica walked out the front door and into fresh air. She eagerly shed the suit and deposited it. Jessica spotted the young policeman who had first discovered the slaughterhouse. He was still sitting on the lawn, looking towards the setting sun. She'd get the autopsy report from the coroner tomorrow. She would also have to search police databases for any recently released convicts with a history of manslaughter. Of course, Jessica was also expected to collect everyone's statements and write a report about the crime scene. There wasn't much more she could do at this very moment.

Well, maybe there was something.

Jessica walked up to the policeman. When he didn't pay any attention to her, Jessica sat in the grass beside him. The young man turned his morose eyes toward Jessica. She smiled at him. He weakly smiled back.

"Was today your first day on the job?" asked Jessica.

"I've been working in the department for about five days," responded the young man.

"My name is Detective Jessica Hawker."

"I'm Simon. Wales. Simon Wales. That's my name. Sorry." The fumble made Jessica smile lightly. Flustered men were so cute.

"Where is your partner?"

"He's the big guy with the gold badge over there, giving his report to that other detective."

One way to help someone was to make them believe that they were helping someone else.

"Well, Simon Wales, I'm going to need to take your report as well."

"Al-alright…"

Jessica stood up first and extended her hand to Simon. He clumsily grabbed it and she helped him to his feet. Despite everything that she has seen in that house, Jessica still firmly believed in the goodness of mankind. All Simon needed to get through the trauma was a warm voice and a kind hand.

There may be Darkness lying in the hearts of men, but there was always goodness as well. No matter how evil one person may be, Jessica had an unflinching belief that people were inherently good. There is no such thing, and never will be, as a completely evil man.

Every criminal has his narrative. And it was up to her to bring that story to light.

* * *

End Chapter Twenty: Hawk Takes Flight

It's finally begun, the police have started their investigation. How long will it be until they find something that links them to Michael? How long until Jessica finds herself in the middle of a war she never even suspected? Whose side will she pick when she uncovers the awful truth? The only thing you can do is read and review.


	21. The Mean Mummy Man

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug usage, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: Guess what, I'm not dead. It's time we returned to what makes my story great. And one of those things is the occasional chapter where I throw about random pieces of my jigsaw puzzle. I'm just reaching in my cauldron and throwing a handful of hints and spoilers into the air.

What you see is what you get.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twenty-One: The Mean Mummy Man_

Noah Brimstrome sat on a custom-designed chair in front of his home personal computer. It was a gigantic villa overlooking a cliff side facing the great wide ocean. The entire oceanfront wall was made of windows, giving Noah a spectacular view from sunrise to sunset. The villa had two floors; the central room had an open ceiling all the way to the skylight. This was one of nine houses that Noah owned. It was also one of the smallest houses that Noah owned. But Noah had his own personal airport nearby with at least two luxury jets always warmed and ready for flight at Noah's slightest whim.

At the moment, Noah was on the second floor office, where one of three personal computers was located. This select computer was not connected to any network. Inside its own firewall (designed by Noah himself) and several levels of encryption, were files known only to Noah. They held information about Experiment KINGOFTHEHORNS that not even Jeremiah could reach. There were video files that were so secretive, that the computer was designed to immediately self destruct and melt itself if the wrong password was entered more than once. To this end, there were capsules of phosphorous hidden inside the tower, positioned just above the heat-sink and hard drive. When the KILLDSK program activates, the capsules open and deposit all the phosphorus. Given that a hard drive can reach over 140 degrees Fahrenheit, the heat alone would ignite the phosphorous upon contact. Complete destruction of the hard drive with the added bonus of severely burning anyone nearby. Noah has heard rumors that Jeremiah's own computer has dynamite strapped to the computer and chair. It's like he's deliberately trying to out-paranoid Noah.

Fortunately, Noah has indeed put the correct password in and nobody has gotten burned. Except maybe the technician who installed the capsules. But he got a brand-new Ferrari for his troubles, so there aren't any real casualties. With the threat of bodily harm out of the way, Noah accessed the video files and scrolled down to his personal favorite video: Therapy Session #616. He opened it up with Windows Media Player and leaned back in his chair, fingertips pressed together to make a steeple.

Therapy Session was not the 616th session in the Mordare line of sessions. It was only the 168th one in fact. But there were 448 other sessions that dated before the Mordare family. There were many families that unwittingly took part of Experiment KINGOFTHEHORNS, and all of them failed to produce a proper male diclonius. It took many failures before Michael Mordare was born.

The video was dated on the 11th of October, just seven days after the incident where Sarah tried to physically abuse Subject D-1, and received a brutal arm injury for her folly. The video opened up a little shaky as the therapist carried the camera on his shoulder. He brought it into a room where there was a seven year old Michael Mordare sitting in a small chair. The boy was turned around in his chair, looking at an empty corner with a frightened expression. His horns looked slightly too big for his head still, but he was growing into them. His hair was a pinkish color; it would darken as he grew older.

The therapist politely asked Michael to face him in his seat. Then he put the camera on a stand underneath a one-way mirror. Noah remembered that the therapist was so scared that he gave Noah his final will and testament. At that point in the experiment, everyone was thinking that Michael's powers had been fully activated and a vector-powered meltdown was imminent. Noah wasn't sure himself, but just to show confidence, he had attended the session personally. He was in a viewing room on the opposite side of the one-way mirror.

Michael sat down in his seat properly and obediently. Then the therapist opened up with some simple questions about the incident. The therapist was hiding his fear well. He asked Michael about what happened when Sarah tried to slap him. Michael just sort of mumbled. The therapist asked him to repeat it louder. Michael said that he didn't remember what happened. All he saw was Sarah holding her arm and shrieking in pain.

"And also, there was a lot of red."

The temperature of the room felt like it had dropped. There was something chilling in the way Michael said it. He spoke like it was a fascinating sight. Suddenly he whipped around in his seat, looking in terror at the empty corner. He slapped his hands over his ears. His red eyes were focused on some point just above the floor. Noah paused the video and leaned closer to the flat-screen monitor, focusing on Michael's face. Tears trembled in his ruby eyes.

Noah played the video again, leaning back in his chair. The therapist kept asking questions, and Michael kept insisting that he didn't remember who hurt his mommy. He seemed scared and refused to look in the corner again. Noah paused the video again and enhanced the picture in the corner. There was absolutely nothing there. Was Michael exhibiting some form of dementia? The trauma of injuring his own mother obviously forced him to repress his memories of the event. But could there have been more to it?

Finally, the therapist was finished asking questions. He turned and left the room, leaving the camera behind. For the longest time, the video was completely silent, save for the sniffles of the young diclonius. Then, for no apparent reason, he turned his head back toward the corner and started to scream.

Then he stopped screaming almost immediately.

A serene expression passed over his face, like he was falling asleep. His misshapen head even began to bob up and down. His hair covered his eyes as he slouched forward. The audio went silent again. One minute passed. Two minutes passed. Three minutes passed. The therapist hadn't returned yet, he was still talking to Noah in another room. He was begging for his life.

Then Michael's head lifted up slightly. His hair still obscured his eyes. He scooted his butt off the chair and walked straight at the camera. He stood right in front of it and didn't move. His facial muscles twitched randomly, like he was trying to make a funny face. But the expression that emerged was nothing short of nightmarish. It looked like what you get when a child gets some molding clay and tries to make a smiley face for the first time. The grin that emerged was twisted and perverted into a smile that completely ruined the purpose of smiles. There was nothing warm or happy about the smile. Michael's facial muscles stretched that terrible smile across his face.

Noah felt another chill run down his spine.

Michael then began to shamble toward the therapist's chair. He stopped beside it, his head tilted in consideration. Then without warning, he threw himself into the wooden chair. His left upper arm slammed against the arm of the chair. The chair flipped over and clattered to the ground. Michael landed in a crumpled heap. Then he pushed himself up with both arms and gasped in pain. He sounded surprised. His horned head whipped around and Noah could see his alarmed eyes briefly. Then he began to cry loudly, holding his arm with his right hand.

There was the sound of a door flying open and a nurse ran into the room. Michael looked at her and stretched his arms toward her. The nurse stepped back, out of view of the camera. She didn't come any closer to the injured boy. Michael looked confused as wet tears streamed down his face. The therapist entered the room and ordered the nurse to pick him up. The nurse hesitated before walking toward Michael. She was treading like she was barefoot in a field of broken glass. Frankly, Noah didn't blame her. The nurse kneeled in front of Michael and inspected his arm. There was a shiny new bruise on his left arm. She asked for a bag of ice and got it within seconds. She then asked Michael to hold it against his bruise. The nurse left the room and then didn't come back. Noah never even got her name.

The therapist asked Michael how he got hurt. Michael shook his head furiously and pointed at the empty corner.

"The mummy man hurt me. The mean mummy man made me hurt me!"

The rest of the video was meaningless, so Noah closed the video file and shut down the computer. He stood up and stretched his arms. Then he took a walk around his luxurious villa. The sun was halfway below the horizon. The reflection on the ocean made the sun appear as a whole circle. The red glow illuminated the entire villa, casting glistening lights off the waves.

It was this session that convinced Noah to anonymously donate twenty thousand dollars –pocket change- to the Mordare family. It seems as a result, the 617th session was less eventful. Michael didn't seem to remember hurting himself. He didn't even remember anything about the mean mummy man. It was like the entire session had been erased –or repressed- from his mind. Noah didn't know what would have happened if the Mordare family hadn't reconnected. There was a small possibility that Michael may have stabilized himself without intervention. But for the sake of the experiment, Noah helped the Mordares provide a healthier growing environment for the diclonius.

Noah retrieved a bottle of rare wine and poured himself a small glass. He rotated the glass in his hand, peering at the blood red sun through the amber fluid.

Or perhaps Noah did it out of a small sense of guilt, knowing that without him, that family would never have been burdened by a diclonius. If it wasn't for Noah, then Michael would have been born a completely normal human boy. In a very real sense, Michael was Noah's responsibility. Of course, it didn't hurt that Michael's escape convinced the Director to give Noah full authority over every resource the Diclonius Research Facility had to offer.

Noah smiled as he sipped from his glass. The exotic taste swirled around his tongue. Was there anything better than sipping a delicious wine while watching a perfectly constructed plan fall into place? Even the persisting diclonius couldn't harsh Noah's mood. After all, the longer the diclonius rampaged, the longer Noah had access to the Facility's resources. Noah would let Michael—no, Subject D-1 run around a while longer. After all, there was still his ace in the hole.

There was nothing that could stop Noah's ambitions.

Not.

One.

Damn.

Thing.

* * *

End Chapter Twenty-One: The Mean Mummy Man

This was yet another chapter where I just reached in and threw a handful of jigsaw pieces at you. The mental image you should have of me is that of a morbidly obese naked man gaily prancing around a field of sunflowers, throwing pieces of a puzzle around like a billionaire would throw silver dollars. Now imagine all that drawn in the art style of Scott Ramsoomair.

Just in case you haven't figured it out, I have a financially beneficial deal with Brain Bleach Co.


	22. Cold Detachment

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: Imagine it, a symphony of massacre. Curtains of blood cascade like rain from the red clouds; an endless sea of red ink staining the streets; countless bodies flung over fences and impaled on street lamps; and a single man walking through the carnage; without feeling a thing.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twenty-Two: Cold Detachment_

The bus deposited me in front of a rundown neighborhood. The sidewalk was cracked and warped. Just about every house had peeling paint or broken panels. There were wooden boards over many house windows. The lawns were unkempt and littered with discarded beer cans, broken glass, and general refuse. Almost every visible car had dents; plastic wrap taped over broken windows, and cracked windshields. There were people on the streets, either walking with their friends or skulking on their lonesome. Somewhere in some house, someone was playing some dreadful rap music (using the loosest definition of music) so loud that I could feel the bass in my belly. I could hear a house alarm screaming from a darkened house in the distance. The entire atmosphere felt depressing, like this was the place where dreams went to die.

Ah, finally some familiar territory. I haven't felt this at home for a week.

The destitute feeling in the air weighed down on the shoulders of the people in this area. Their shoulders sagged under the heaviness of poverty. Neighborhoods like these were black holes that sucked everything out of a person, leaving them bitter shells of their former selves. Poverty was like quicksand, the more you desperately struggle to get out, the faster you sink in. And desperate people are more likely to resort to violence.

I kept to the shadows, cloaking myself in their comforting Darkness. A cold, sharp breeze cut across my face and I flipped my new hood over my misshapen skull. The hood cast a shadow over my eyes. Nobody could see my horns, my birthright. Nobody could see my blood-red eyes, my legacy. Nobody could see my scarlet hair, my inheritance. Nobody could see the threat, the predator.

Nobody on the streets paid any attention to the stranger. The people of this neighborhood would probably look the other way if I killed someone right before their eyes. The slackers wouldn't bother themselves with police investigations. The immigrants fear the police and their power to summon immigration services. The junkies wouldn't want police to find their meth labs. The criminals who hate the police wouldn't help them for any reason. The molesters wouldn't want the police to find their… photo albums. Nobody here held any love for authority. This made it the perfect hunting grounds.

I wasn't going to enjoy this, not really. All I could do is detach myself from the act, to cast my emotions where they could not interfere. If I were to ever take pleasure in murder, I would probably become sick with myself. Not even monsters belong in a diclonius society.

This isn't just about killing Noah anymore. This isn't just about revenge for my family. If I'm going to be really free, I am going to have to beat these people. If I'm going to be the forefather of a new species, I can't have these people getting in my way. As long as they are hunting me, I will never be able to truly cut loose. Of course, revenge is still top of my list. I just don't have one reason to kill anymore. The more reasons the better. It's good to know that I'm only killing for myself.

"_Y__**ou**__ ha__**ve**__n'__**t**__ f__**or**__g__**o**__t__**te**__n __**wh**__y __**y**__o__**u**__'__**r**__e h__**er**__e, __**ha**__v__**e**__ y__**ou?"**_

"No, of course not; I'm just admiring the beautiful sight, that's all."

The Voice chuckled darkly.

Still, I was burning moonlight. It would be in my best interest to just pick one house, clean it out, and then move on. Although killing humans was no longer such a big deal, I still wanted to pick the right place. I would feel terrible if I had to kill a family with children. As contemptuous as I may have become, I have to draw the line somewhere, otherwise Samael would be able to walk all over me.

I saw an empty house on the far side of the street. I could just barely make out dark figures frantically running from the house, carrying stolen loot. It shouldn't be my problem, but there was a loud alarm sounding from inside the house. The police would be here any minute.

All of the sudden, I wanted to kill the robbers. It wasn't a matter of vigilantism, but because they reminded me of the numerous times my house was broken into. I only really remember one, when I was pretty young. I heard the back door slam close when I woke up. And the next morning, Mother quickly called her bank to cancel her stolen credit card. She took it like everything else, with a shot of liquor. Still, it was chilling to know that someone else could enter my home without anyone's permission.

I wasn't planning on reminiscing about bad childhood memories. Their arms full of their spoils, the dark figures broke out into a run and I jogged after them. They were relatively easy to keep track of; the stolen goods weighed them down. I could see plastic bags nearly bursting with jewelry, video games, credit cards, and other miscellaneous items. I thought I saw a video game console in the arms of one of the robbers. I counted about five robbers in all. Was I going to kill all five of them? Probably not, the police was still going to answer the alarm. I wasn't so daring as to try and kill someone while the police were in the area. There wasn't a thunderstorm to drown out screaming this time around.

They stopped moving and grouped together in front of a broken down shack that resembled a house. I darted from shadow to shadow and tried to get close; the Darkness clung to my body like a shroud. My breaths came slow and even, white whispers in front of my lips. I could hear some of the buglers talking in low voices. I was so close I could make out their voices. All five of them were African-American, approximately the same age. I would guess the oldest was no older than twenty-one.

"Fucking sweet, I've always wanted this guy's game system! I called dibs on it, 'member?"

"Johnny, you're always calling dibs on the best shit."

"I'm the one who scoped out the place, made sure when the fool was going on vacation."

The rest of the conversation didn't interest me. It seems that this Johnny guy was the one who organized the break-in. I intensely disliked his guts. Hate would be a strong word, because that would imply that I actually cared enough. His fate was sealed, end of the matter. I waited until they all broke apart and went their separate ways. Johnny turned and ran up the lawn and toward the house. I waited until I heard the slam of a door before moving.

I stepped out of the Darkness and followed in his footsteps. The brown grass rustled underfoot. I reached up and pulled the hood down. The crisp night air slashed at my red hair and nipped at my exposed horns. I could feel myself sinking into a familiar apathy, a bottomless indifference. There was no malicious smile, no sadistic smirk.

There was nothing in my soul but cold detachment.

I walked the rotting wooden steps that lead up to the porch. The wood creaked ominously under my weight. To my surprise, I could hear a heated argument coming from inside. I heard a woman's voice in high hysterics, shrieking accusations at none other than Johnny. They were obviously arguing about the stolen loot. It seems that the missus didn't like his nocturnal activities, and was threatening to leave.

No, hang on, I heard her say she was already packed. With a start, I realized that she was heading for the door. I quickly bolted from the porch and ran toward a tall tree in the yard. Using my vectors, I was able to climb up the tree faster than humanly possible.

"_**W**__h__**y**__ a__**re**__ y__**o**__u __**h**__id__**in**__g __**ag**__ai__**n?**__ J__**us**__t __**sp**__il__**l**__ h__**er**__ gu__**ts**__ t__**he**__ m__**om**__e__**n**__t __**sh**__e o__**pe**__n__**s**__ t__**he**__ do__**or!"**_

"No, wait. This is more interesting. If she's high-tailing out of here, then she'll be out of the way. I want her to be the one to find him dead. Isn't that more exciting?"

The Voice snorted dismissively. I don't think he cared much except for the act of murder. And in all honestly, I didn't think it was more exciting either. I just didn't feel like killing someone when it wasn't necessary. The door burst open and a black woman came running out in a hurry, wearing nothing but some pajama bottoms and a loose bra, dragging an embarrassingly small suitcase behind her. I pressed myself against the tree trunk and kept watching as Johnny chased after her. My blood-red eyes surveyed from the black shadows. A sudden flash of lamplight off metal caught my attention. I instantly recognized what it was.

"You see, neither of us knew that this guy was armed."

"_**W**__h__**at**__ do__**es**__ i__**t**__ ma__**tte**__r __**t**__o __**a**__ di__**clo**__ni__**us**__, __**w**__ho __**ca**__n __**d**__e__**fl**__ec__**t**__ b__**u**__ll__**ets**__?__**"**_

"It's been a while since we've been shot at. I feel like I need some practice."

I could see a darkened figure, Johnny, screaming some obscenities after her from his porch. Like I said, I wasn't too interested in the conversation. It was the same exact bullshit that I heard almost every night growing up. My next door neighbors could have woken the dead with their screaming arguments. There were times I thought they were killing each other, late at night. I even remember hearing dishes breaking some nights. It was a long time before I learned to shut out the bawling.

Johnny turned and slammed his door shut, knocking a chip of paint off the frame. I let myself fall out of the tree and onto the lawn. My vectors caught the ground and I gently lowered myself until my feet touched the ground. I glanced around to make sure nobody had seen that. Then I swaggered up the steps once again. I pulled my hood back over my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets. I opened the screen door with my vectors and rapped an ethereal fist against the doorframe.

The door swung open with surprising violence. I finally saw Johnny face to face. He had a wide, brown face with fat lips and a short, scraggly beard. His unkempt hair looked like a failed attempt at dreadlocks. I could practically taste the alcohol in the air as he breathed heavily in my face. His eyes were practically completely vacant.

"Shakira, I told you that you wouldn't be able to resist my black co—who are you?"

Johnny hadn't managed to drink himself into a stupor during the screaming argument, although not for lack of trying judging from his breath. I didn't want to give him a chance to make more noise, so I backhanded him with a vector. His head snapped sideways and his entire body lifted off the ground from the force of the blow. Johnny flew through the air and slammed into the back of a patch-work couch. I let myself into the house and summoned all of my vectors. Eleven wraithlike hands poised in the air around him and me. Johnny scrambled to his feet and bolted to an adjacent room. I chased after him, pumping my legs as fast as I could. As soon as I turned the corner, I saw Johnny holding a revolver and pointing it at me. Without a thought, my vectors wrapped around my body like a shield.

Johnny yelled "Who the fuck are you and the fuck you doing in my house!"

"I was just in the neighborhood, looking for someone to kill. I saw you robbing a house and that rubbed me the wrong way. So I'm here to kill you." I said nonchalantly. Johnny'seyes bulged. His voice raised out of terror.

"What th' fuck did I do to you? I ain't never stolen anything from you! You fucking insane! You say you're going to kill me just fo' that?"

"It was either you or your friends, and your house just happened to be closer." I shrugged. My disinterested attitude drove Johnny into hysterics. He waved the gun around instead of keeping it fixated on my body. I took a large step forward and Johnny immediately pointed the gun at me again.

"You ain't got no gun! You ain't got nothin'! The fuck you gonna to kill me with? You're outta your fucking mind! I should just shoot you now!"

"Then why don't you?" I demanded. Johnny looked furious and turned his revolver sideways in an intimidating way. I was not impressed. "You're seriously turning the gun sideways? You've gone from vaguely threatening to downright ridiculous in less than a second. Do you find this amusing?"

And with that, I took another giant step forward. Johnny squeezed the trigger and the revolver roared. A single bullet ricocheted off my shield, stopping one vector for a split-second. Johnny's eyes bulged even further, his mouth hanging agape.

"Fucking hell is this shit? I saw a hand for a second! Why ain't you dead?"

I reached up and lowered my hood so that my horns were in full sight. Johnny stared at my horns with a completely terrified expression. With one thought, I lobbed Johnny's hand off his wrist. The revolver clattered to the ground, free from the decapitated hand. Johnny began to moan. It started low and then began to build up to a scream. I didn't want him to scream, so I slit his throat. Blood cascaded from his open neck and bubbled in his esophagus. Johnny gargled on his own blood as he collapsed to the ground. His eyes were fit to burst and his tongue swelled in his mouth. His body thrashed uselessly on the ground, with one hand at his throat.

I held no malicious smile, no sadistic smirk. With lips slightly puckered, red eyes covered in Darkness, I tilted my head with morbid curiosity as Johnny suffocated on his own blood. As the seconds ticked by, Johnny slowly grew quiet and still. With one last twitch, he passed from this world.

I was alone again.

Remembering what Samael had said the night before, I turned to a wall and pressed a single unearthly hand against it. I focused on thrusting the hand in slowly, to make the clearest shape possible. The vector effortlessly pushed into the dry-wood and made an easily distinguishable impression.

This was our sign, our message, our warning to Noah. I wanted him to know without a doubt that I was murdering humans. I wanted him to feel the pressure, to rush into a mistake. I may not be infecting people, but there was no way for him to discern that for sure. He would probably assume the worst and thus would be forced to move more openly. As soon as Noah was in the open, I would bring the guillotine down on his neck.

I left the vector-handprint on the wall and exited out the back door. I could feel the cold detachment lifting. I still didn't feel remorse, but perhaps a hint of foreboding. I had no idea how long it would take before Noah exposed himself. I could be doing this for years. How many thousands of insignificant lives would it take before I could take Noah's life? Could I keep my identity secret for years? I was careful now, but could I go years without mistake?

Then I decided I didn't care. Nobody could stop me even if they tried. As my body grows, so will my powers. Why, in ten years, I might even have triple digit vectors. Perhaps I had my head in the clouds, perhaps not. I had no idea what the limits of my abilities were, how strong my vectors were, or the speed of which they slew. Could vectors have more uses than just killing and infecting?

I was still so new to this whole thing. If anything, my young mind granted me something that would be lost to an older person.

Imagination.

* * *

End Chapter Twenty-Two: Cold Detachment

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I know I did. The war between Noah and Michael turns and twists; spiraling out of control. And that's just how Michael wants it. How many more innocents will fall to his vectors? Can Jessica follow the trail of blood to Michael's doorstep?

What if Michael finds her first?


	23. Bad Men

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: Perhaps I'm a little late, but I've come to the conclusion that I need to help my readers keep track of what day it is in the story. Chapters 20, 21, and 22 all take place on Day 1. That's right, even this chapter takes place on the same day as the last two chapters. Heck, some chapters may even completely overlap at times. I will try to guide you through this twisted tome.

**Author's Notes**: I've been kind of bouncing off the walls lately. I'm guessing it's because I haven't taken any of my prescription drugs. If I go too long without my sanity pills, the walls between these **Author's Notes** and my story may erode—

_**Y**__o__**u**__ r__**ea**__l__**l**__y __**n**__e__**ed**__ t__**o**__ t__**a**__k__**e**__ y__**our**__ pi__**lls**__._

…son of a...

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twenty-Three: Bad Men_

[Day One (1) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 11:28 PM]

Jessica Hawker found herself staring into the vacant eyes of Sarah Freeman. That was the name printed on the tag attached to her big toe. Sarah Freeman was lying flat on Richard Herman's operating table. Specifically, her body was in the morgue where Lead Forensics Richard Herman was performing an autopsy. Jessica had her arms crossed with one hand over her mouth, consciously fighting the gag reflex while simultaneously appearing to be deep in thought. It was a talent of hers.

Richard Herman stood across from the table occupied by the body. His gorgeous black hair was locked up inside a hairnet. He was wearing gloves that reached up to his elbows. Yet despite the fact that he was poking around inside of a cadaver, there wasn't much blood on them. Most of the blood had drained out of the body from the hole in her sternum. Jessica didn't even really need to wear an apron; she was only doing so out of a skewed sense of tradition. And not only did she wear the full-armed gloves, but there was also a bandage wrapped around her wedding band.

Looking up from Sarah's glazed orbs, Jessica waited for Richard to reveal his findings. Jessica didn't actually have to be in the morgue, she could have waited for the preliminary autopsy report. But Richard had insisted that there were just some things that needed to be seen directly instead of read about. Jessica studied Richard's face. He was undoubtedly handsome and charming, even with his habitual rambling. He was the type of guy who always bought gifts, even if you told him you didn't need to. He was the kind of guy who would practically drop everything he was doing to open a door for a lady. He was the kind of guy who would never intentionally say anything inappropriate, although his rambling has lead to hysterical Freudian slips.

But looking at Richard now, where he was in his element, Jessica saw him in a different light. There was just something about the way his stoic facial expression never changed even though there was a horribly mutilated body in front of him. The cold light reflected off his eyes as he gathered up his notes. And when Richard spoke, Jessica realized that he never once rambled. Being around dead bodies all day seemed to drain the life out of him. Perhaps that's why Richard always volunteers to get out in the field, even though he is constantly forced to wear the dreaded hairnet. Jessica wondered if he hated his job.

Finally Richard cleared his throat and Jessica refocused on the body in front of her. The normal Y shaped incision was unnecessary due to the damage. Richard had merely opened up the hole with a few creative cuts here and there, allowing for a deeper look into the internal damage.

"The first thing I want to note is the efficiency of the kill."Richard began. "If you look at the victim's throat, you will see some clear ligature marks. Whoever strangled the victim was very strong; almost the entire hand is clearly visible on the skin. Her throat was lightly crushed, just enough so that even whispering would have been very painful, yet not enough to cause her to suffocate."

Richard gestured to the throat and Jessica nodded in understanding. This fits into her image of an experienced killer, someone who had killed many times before. Or maybe it's just someone who has a natural talent for killing. Then Richard motioned to the victim's chest area before continuing.

"I checked the muscle tissue around the damaged section. All of the muscles were relaxed. This implies that the killing blow was swift and powerful. The victim didn't have time to tense up before she was completely impaled. She died instantly, with no pain whatsoever, except for the throat."

Richard's solemn eyes met Jessica's own. "I've been trying to figure out what weapon could have caused such damage. But the closest thing that I can think of is a flat-headed spear. Nothing else fits as well."

"Are you saying that a spear did this? Did an ancient gladiator kill this woman?" Jessica asked. "Who uses those -kinds of weapons in modern times? Couldn't a point-blank shotgun loaded with slugs do the same kind of damage?"

"We didn't find any slugs at the crime-scene. Not to mention the complete lack of gunpowder. And blood-splatters indicate that a long-poled weapon was involved. I was skeptical at first too, but the other victim convinced me."

Then Richard led Jessica to a different operating table. This one had the body of Victor Freeman displayed. In the case of Victor Freeman, the body and the head were on separate tables. The corpse had one great big split just beneath the navel that traveled from hip to hip. They managed to stuff his internal organs back into his body in about the right configuration. Surprisingly, there was no cut damage on the organs themselves, which was something that Richard pointed out immediately.

"Once again, take note of the incredible efficiency in the act. It appears that the victim suffered one, and exactly one, slash just beneath the belly that allowed all of his bowels to spill straight out. Then one more slash took off his head in an exceedingly clean manner. This is just mind-boggling for me."

Jessica was growing frustrated with Richard. "What is up with you? Why are you practically praising a killer for knowing how to kill someone? Since when were you such a fan of psychopaths?"

Richard bowed his head in ignominy. "I'm sorry, but you have to understand that I'm leading up to something very important. Bear with me on this, I'll tone it down. Now, what we see here is an almost ritualistic murder. First the killer takes his weapon and splits open Victor—I mean the victim's stomach. At this point, the victim just falls on his knees on top of his own organs. This means he's holding still long enough for the killer to decapitate him with one more blow. Note how the downward angle supports the idea that the victim was on his knees."

Jessica nodded and spoke "You said that this body convinced you of something? What was it exactly?"

His eyes burning with enthusiasm, Richard said this "That the killer was using medieval weapons."

Jessica's expression screwed up in confusion. "Why would anyone use medieval weapons?"

"I don't know, I'm guessing that those are harder to trace. The only weapon that I can think of that could make the hole in Mrs. Freeman is a spear. And the only weapons that I can think of that matches Mr. Freeman are long bladed weapons, like a sword or something that has to have been gripped with two hands." To demonstrate, Richard held both hands in front of him as though he were wielding a sword. "Only a two-handed weapon could have done this kind of damage. You can't use a knife to gut someone this cleanly, in one fell swoop. Not unless you are inhumanely strong."

"Okay, so a spear could have been used to kill one victim and a sword to kill another." Jessica began, "But why would one killer carry two weapons? Aren't there weapons that have both a spear and sword on them?"

"You're thinking of a halberd or a glaive. That's a definite possibility, but I have one more thing to show you before I reveal my big theory."

"I knew it, you're hiding something. I don't have all night, just give me what you have." Jessica crossed her arms in front of her chest and fixated her mightiest hawk eye on Richard. He didn't meet her gaze in fear of spontaneous combustion.

"Sorry, that's not my style. I have to do this in a way that'll satisfy my principles."

"Fine, just get on with it."

Richard held both hands in front of him with his index fingers pointed up. He led Jessica to a fourth table and pulled back the blanket to reveal Janet Freeman, an old woman whose body was torn apart nearly beyond recognition. "Remember how I kept stressing the efficiency of the killings?"

With one dramatic finger, Richard pointed at Janet's eviscerated cadaver and said this. "That is not efficient."

Jessica opened her mouth to unleash the most sarcastic sentence ever recorded. Then it finally dawned on her.

"You're saying that there are two MO's." Jessica breathed.

"Exactly." Richard smirked.

"Two MO's means there must have been two killers." Jessica began, "And if there were two killers, then they must have had two weapons. That explains why two different bodies had two different kinds of wounds."

"You know how unusual it is to have two separate murder operations. The only logical explanation why there are two MO's is that there are two persons."

"But wait, we only found one set of footprints." Jessica said.

"You only found one set of footprints that lead upstairs. There could have been two killers, just one who went upstairs while the other one stayed where blood was already. Or they could have stepped in each other's footsteps. It really does fit, doesn't it?"

Jessica nodded, but slowly. "Well, your theory does fit the current evidence. But so far this is only educated speculation. We shouldn't work under the assumption that there are multiple murderers. We'll need more evidence before we present this to the chief."

Richard seemed to deflate slightly upon hearing this. When he smiled, it looked forced. "I should have known that would be the case. Thanks for just hearing me out, anyhow."

"No problem. Anyways, the killer has managed a clean getaway. He may be confident enough to kill again as early as a week. You've been very helpful and I'm sure we'll find some evidence to support your theory."

But in her head, Jessica was already thinking _"God, I hope we don't find any such evidence. I hate the idea of one repeating killer. I can't stand the idea of two killers working together!"_

At that moment, Jessica's cell phone vibrated in her pants. She fished it out of her pocket and flipped it open. Chief Isaac's deep voice spoke from the phone "Jessica, I just got a call that we have another murder."

Jessica answered "You know that I'm already working on a case."

"I know that, this murder was definitely committed by your killer."

"How can you be sure? I _just_ got an MO from Richard."

"There's a clear handprint in a solid surface."

"Oh." Jessica said simply. She hadn't anticipated another murder this soon. Jessica was at the first murder scene just this morning. She's been spending her day setting up the case file. The evidence has barely been organized and the preliminary report hasn't been printed. She hasn't even had time to go home!

"Are you still with Richard? Put the phone on speakers."

Jessica obliged and placed the phone on a table. Richard began to put things away while listening in.

"This case has just gotten bigger. I'm assigning Jared Ishtar to help you on your case."-

Jessica groaned inwardly. "But I'm still lead detective, right?"

"Absolutely, and since Richard is listening in, I can just tell you both the address. The murder scene is on…"

Jessica listened to the address and mentally calculated a route using the GPS system in her head. After a moment's consideration, her face wrinkled in disgust. That address was in Point Place, right in the middle of the ghettos. Jessica already knew that there wasn't going to be any useful witnesses. Too many cases died in the ghettos.

"…Have you got that?"

"Yes sir. Is Ishtar already on scene?"

"Not yet, I just got off the phone with him. He should be on the scene first though, so he'll fill you in on the details when you arrive."

"I'm on my way now, goodbye sir."

Jessica flipped her phone closed and pocketed it in single fluid motion. Richard gazed at her with a solemn expression. He pulled a tarp over the body of Sarah Freeman.

"You were right; there was another murder in less than a week."

Jessica shook her head. "I didn't want to be right about _this_."

"It's going to take me a while to clean up and find my field kit. I can't leave these bodies laying out here. Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Richard began to walk around the room, pushing the tables on which the bodies laid. Jessica didn't hesitate to leave the gloomy room of the mangled dead. One backward glance had Richard pushing a body into a refrigerated cavity. His shoulders were slumped and his head so low, so very low. Jessica kept a brisk walking pace until she reached her car.

* * *

[Day Two (2) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 12:18 AM]

Jessica reached the location within fifteen minutes. The house was in the middle of a stretch of road. There were a number of police cars parked along the street. She could see a number of policemen knocking on neighboring doors or walking away from the houses with disappointed faces. The door-to-door method was proving as useful as Jessica had predicted.

When Jessica stepped out of her car a blast of arctic air lashed at her exposed cheeks and nose. She wrinkled her nose and shielded her reddened skin with cupped hands. The brown grass crunched like brittle bones underfoot. She ducked underneath a length of yellow and black caution tape while flashing her detective badge to the nearest cop. A team of forensics investigators were also prepping for their search. As far as she could see, there was nobody in a full body suit. The crime scene mustn't be as bad as yesterday. When she stepped on the porch, the wooden planks complained.

Jessica walked into the house and was met by Ishtar. The dark-skinned detective was standing beside a young black lady. Jared was wearing a ridiculously long red and yellow scarf that looped around his entire lower-face and neck. Ishtar really hates the cold. He turned to face her, his expression appropriately solemn. Jared spoke first.

"Nice to see you, Jessica. The victim's name is Johnny Wilson, a twenty-nine year old black male with a history of thefts and domestic abuse. He was killed with a single horizontal slash across the throat on top of a dismemberment of the right hand. A six-shot revolver was found, but not with the body. This lady here is Shakira Nelson, former girlfriend of the deceased."

"It's nice to see that you're putting all the policemen to work. But is the door-to-door method the only thing you could think up to keep them occupied?"

Jared shrugged "Not everyone is going to shut up just because a badge is knocking on the door. We could get lucky and find a lead. It's not like the cops are doing anything else. I'm just keeping a professional image ma'am."

Eyebrows raised, Jessica turned to Shakira, who was dabbing at her puffy red eyes with a napkin. She wore a blank expression. She had a wide face that wasn't helped by a very large hairdo. She had a black jacket, pink undershirt, and green skin-tight pants. Obviously she wasn't dressed for the occasion. Justifiable, but it didn't explain her perfectly manicured nails. Then again, grief isn't always explainable. People do the weirdest things when they are mournful.

Jessica spoke "Anyway, why is the girlfriend here? She should be behind the tape."

"Shakira is the one who found the vic." Jared responded.

"Oh, well that changes things." Jessica allowed.

Jared barked in bitter laughter. "That's not the only thing changed here. Shakira has admitted to tampering with the crime scene. Tell her, Kira."

Shakira's face clouded over. "I didn't do much, I—I just took the gun. I don't know what I was thinking. Johnny was already in trouble with the police, I didn't want him to get in more trouble. But—but he couldn't get in trouble 'cause he's…"

Jessica immediately knew what was coming. How long has it been since Johnny's death? It couldn't have even been two hours. And to be the one to find him must have been traumatizing. There was no escaping the inevitable meltdown.

"…He's dead, isn't he?" She breathed aloud. It sounded more like a statement than a question. The look of dawning realization spread over her face. Shakira's vacant eyes began to well up with fresh tears. She gasped in pain and stomach. Like a dam bursting open, a nearly incomprehensible cascade of randomly stringed sentences burst forth, punctured by constant sobbing and hiccupping.

"I know he wasn't good for me. He never stopped stealing. I HAD TO DRAG HIS SORRY ASS OUT OF BED EVERY MORNING! I cried myself to sleep on a pillow that wasn't mine. His stuff paid for my college tuition. IT'S NOT FAIR! I loved Johnny! He didn't need a gun, just wanted to make me feel safe. He can't be dead! No! No! No! NO! He didn't abuse me, not with force anyway. When he was sweet, it felt like it was all worthwhile… I WAS ONLY GONE FOR TEN MINU-U-U-U-UTES!"

That last part caught Jessica's ears. "Hold on a minute, do we know when the victim died?"

Jared stared at Jessica with an incredulous expression. "Jessie, we've only gotten the call less than thirty minutes ago. We pretty much only just arrived."

Forget two hours; this body wasn't even fifty minutes dead! This was closer than Jessica has ever gotten to a fresh body. She's never even shot anyone before. All of the sudden the house became nearly unbearable to stay in. Every fiber of her being screamed at Jessica to get the FUCK OUT OF THERE! With Herculean effort, Jessica managed to keep breathing at a normal pace. Even so, Ishtar seemed to notice Jessica's turmoil.

"I'm sorry miss, but we need you to return the crime scene to as close as it was when you found it. Do you have the gun?"

Jared's voice seemed so far away. Why was this so much of a problem? Jessica has seen plenty of bodies! When Shakira produced the pistol from her purse, Jared gently pinched the sliding rack with a gloved hand and carried it to the crime scene. Jessica numbly walked behind her subordinate, wrestling with herself.

"_I've never felt this way before. Even in my first case with a dead body, I still wasn't this bad. Get it together Hawker! Get it together!"_

The kitchen was where the body laid. The body was lying on his stomach, with his head twisted to the side. The body of Johnny Wilson was the complete opposite of the morning's dead. There was comparatively little blood, although still a lot. It seemed concentrated underneath the victim's head and chest. Not to mention his right arm ended abruptly at the wrist, with the hand itself nearly underneath the stove. Shakira, now wearing gloves (when did she get them?), gently placed the gun on the ground about three inches away from the hand. As soon as her eyes landed on Johnny's body, she burst into fresh tears. Her cries of anguish sounded as though from a great distance.

Jared gently led Shakira away from the kitchen and out the door. Fighting through the smog of her mind, Jessica walked behind them to the outdoors. The fresh, cold air cut through the quickening haze, if only just a little. She couldn't stand the epileptic red and blue lights, so she walked off and sat on the icy grass. The stars were beautiful. Jared left Shakira on the porch and strode toward Jessica. His eyes were unusually stern.

"Are you alright?" he asked first. Jessica nodded numbly, so he continued. "What's going on Jessica, you're supposed to be in charge. But now you're turning into a zombie. What's going through your mind?"

Jessica sighed loudly. "I don't know, I just haven't been this close to a dead body that's this fresh. That man in the house was alive less than an hour ago! I can remember what I was doing an hour ago! I—I don't know why that's getting to me."

The red and blue lights played off Jared's face, giving him a two-faced appearance. He stuck his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. His gaze went skyward, their shared zenith clustered with cold starlight. A moment of silence passed, interrupted by a screech as another car pulled up. Richard Herman stepped out of his vehicle and began to unload his equipment from the trunk. He pulled out a full body suit and began to slip into it before a policeman walked over to him. His look of overwhelmed relief was very amusing.

Jared coughed into his fist. A warm moisture cloud covered his mouth. Jessica's attention returned to him, so he replied. "I don't think that dead body is what's getting to you. Weren't you at the first murder scene just this morning? No wait, what's the time? It was yesterday morning in fact. I wasn't there, but I heard that it was super messy."

At that moment, Richard spotted the two of them and began to walk over. He seemed confused and concerned as to why Jessica was sitting on the grass. Jared glanced at him and held his right hand up in a "stop" kind of way. Richard looked somewhat hurt and walked dejectedly back to his car. Jessica knew that Jared and Richard didn't get along that well.

He continued. "You're throwing yourself into this case just like you always do. And this time, you haven't even had a chance at respite. You've been writing reports and writing on your whiteboard and a whole lot of other stuff. You were just with Richard in the morgue not even half an hour ago. How many cups of coffee have you had already?" Jessica honestly lost count somewhere around seven. "My point is, you are only human. You should leave the rest to me and get some sleep before you burn yourself out."

Jessica sucked in a breath and released it slowly. Damn him for making sense. Jessica knew she had a bad habit of overexerting herself. She supposed that it was jailing her own father that made her this way. Ever since that case she has forgotten how to pace herself. A hundred and twenty percent, that's the bare minimum for Jessica.

Finally breaking out of her reverie, Jessica stood up by herself and spoke "Thanks Jared, I think I'm going to take you up on that offer. But not until I talk to Richard first, he and I may have found something about our killer." Then Jessica smiled wearily. "Why can't you be this mature in the office?"

"Why can't you be this vulnerable in the office?"

"Touché."

"Anyway, you said you had something? Care to spill?"

"Not until we find solid evidence. It's all circumstantial right now."

"Why don't you fill me in anyways, I could help you find your solid evidence."

Jessica tilted her head in consideration then nodded. Jared fell into step behind her as she walked toward the ambulance to grab a pair of gloves. Neither Jared nor Jessica had hair that reached their shoulders, so they didn't need hairnets. Now that the reason for her near-melt down was apparent, she felt like she could fight it. Shakira would get her fingerprints taken as well as her statement. Jessica wanted to take her statement personally, but Jared's advice was sounding pretty sound. When she entered the kitchen, a bright flash blinded her briefly. Richard was already standing over the body and taking pictures with a powerful camera. Safety cones were placed near the severed hand and around the body. Richard scratched at the white hairnet on his head, muttering under his breath.

Jared coughed and Richard's head whipped up to meet them. Jessica gave a short wave and Richard rose to his full height, his back popping in protest. Jared spoke first "What have you got for us Sherman?"

"It's Herman."

"Whatever."

Richard picked up the gun and popped out the cylinder peered at it. "There's one less bullet in this revolver and there's one bullet plus casing on the ground. This means that the gun was fired just once and the bullet crushed itself against something very solid and flat. I'm talking solid enough to stop the bullet instantly and flat enough to prevent a ricochet."

Jared gave a quizzical glance to Jessica, who then spoke. "What do you mean by that?"

"Honestly, I don't really know. All I see is a bullet flattened into a perfect little rose and it was found less than five feet from the vic. I have some guesses, but those can be saved for my report." Richard pointed to a little brass bullet on the ground, next to a safety cone. "I would like to add that the victim's throat was slashed very quickly, likely with one swing. The blade wasn't dragged across the throat; it was a single powerful slash. If the blade was dragged, then the flesh would be ripped. The flesh here was parted very cleanly. Very effective, one might say." Richard gave Jessica a knowing look.

"So, the victim shot at our killer presumably." Jessica began, ignoring Richard's look, standing between the bullet and the body. "The killer blocks the bullet with something solid and flat, then takes his hand off with one swing and slashes the victim's throat with another."

Jared squeezed his eyes shut and shook his hand roughly. "Hang on, is anyone else getting the feeling that something here is wrong?"

"You mean beside the fact that the gun was moved?" Richard huffed.

"Yes, I mean besides that. Look—look at the hand and the stump…" Jared's eyes darted from both mentioned body parts and rubbed his mouth with his pinky finger. This time it was Jessica's turn to give Richard a knowing glance. Jared was very perceptive and his observational skills bordered on the 95th percentile. It was something that he didn't let anyone in the office forget. The fact that Jared was starting to piece together what they already suspected proved that his claims were not baseless.

Then, without warning Jared grabbed Jessica by the shoulders and spun her to stand beside the bullet. Then he hopped in front of the body and at her with his index finger with his thumb straight up. "Okay, so I'm the victim and you're the killer. I shoot at you with my finger and you block the bullet with… something, a shield I am guessing. I'm guessing you have a sword because there's no way you're taking off my hand with a knife. Go, do the motion."

Jessica shrugged and gripped her flashlight with both hands. Then she stepped forward and swung her flashlight like a sword at Jared's gun hand, apparently splitting the wrist in two halves down the middle. Jared didn't even play along and just jumped into a hyperactive speech.

"The hand was cut off perpendicularly. It was not sliced off like what you just did. The wound is straight perpendicular to the arm. The only way that could have happened is if you had chopped your sword down from beside the victim. If the gun was pointed at the killer, then how did he manage a perpendicular cut?"

Richard made to say something, but Jessica put her hand on his shoulder and watched the Egyptian attack the conundrum with his head. One minute passed and Jared froze completely. An expression of wonder passed over his face and he snapped his fingers.

"There are two killers." Jared crowed triumphantly. Jessica smiled at his accomplishment while Richard wore an expression of mock surprise.

"There is no way that Johnny is going to take the gun off his killer. He's pointing it at the shield-wielding fucker even if he knows that he can't hit him. But then, a second killer comes out of nowhere, taking Johnny by surprise, and uses like a Japanese _katana_ or something and brings that blade straight down on Johnny's wrist, taking the whole thing off with one blow. Then he swings his blade across Johnny's throat to finish him off."

The story fit the obvious evidence and Richard's theory. The fact that Jared came to the double killer conclusion without any hints only gave Richard's idea more weight. In fact, he even brought up the medieval weapons. Two different people do not come to the same conclusion unless there was some truth to it.

"You're preaching to the choir. Jessica and I already knew that there were two killers and that they were using medieval weapons." Richard sniffed. "I'm thinking that these two killers might be medieval fanatics. They were using a spear and a sword, and now we have evidence that they had armor too."

"They were using a spear?"

"The last murder victim had a hole punched through her sternum like a flat-headed spear would make."

"You guys aren't sharing information. These are things that I would like to know."

This time Jessica was the one who spoke up. "You were just assigned to the case. And the reason I didn't tell you anything was because I wanted to see if you would come to the same conclusion. Congratulations and all that, now let's leave Richard to forensics this place down."

Barely stifling a yawn, Jessica exited the house and began to walk back to her car. A cold rush of winter air gusted past her. There were still policemen walking down the streets. Jared would have to call them back so that they could be armed with the new info. Two people carrying a shield and a sword would not be easy to miss. Jessica was still not optimistic about the whole door-to-door questioning, but at least it was something. Jessica was not looking forward to driving past midnight while this sleepy. She considered calling Lucas, but then dismissed the idea. The problem was that Lucas would probably come even if he was sleepier than she was. Also, she didn't want to leave her car behind again, especially not in this neighborhood.

Before she got in her car, Jessica noticed Shakira sitting in an ambulance. Hesitating for a second, Jessica walked over to her and sat beside Shakira. The black girl was still crying softly. When she noticed Jessica's presence, she wiped her eyes with her hand and sucked in a deep breath. Her shoulders were still shaking though. Jessica spoke first.

"We're going to catch the guys who did this. They've already committed a murder uptown. They can't keep this up without making a mistake."

Shakira tried to speak through hiccups, "I just—I just wish that I had—been there. Johnny wouldn't have died if I had been there. I mean, I was only gone for ten minutes. What does that mean?"

"It means that the murderer was already there when you had left. You probably got out just in time. When they killed uptown, they murdered three people. Two people would make no difference to them. If you had stayed, then you would have been killed too and your body wouldn't have been found as quickly."

Shakira's face contorted with grief and she sucked in another miserable breath. "You know what? Johnny came home with a stolen video game console. I—I think I should give it back. But I don't even know who he stole it from, you know? He was constantly stealing stuff with his friends and coming home drunker than hell. Johnny was a bad man and I should have left him a long time ago. It's my life; I shouldn't have to live with someone like him."

"If you really want to help, then tell the police who his friends are and they can help return the stolen goods. I'm sure you would make someone out there very happy." Shakira nodded and blew her nose with a tissue.

Jessica stood up and walked over to her car. There was so much to do, so many calls to make, and so much paperwork to fill out. If the murderers struck again tonight, then the entire department might get involved in this case. But all of that could wait; Lucas was probably worrying his pretty little head off.

Smiling wearily, Jessica deposited herself in her car and drove off.

* * *

End of Chapter Twenty-Three: Bad Men

Well, I hope that was worth the wait. Working two jobs really cuts into the time I have to write. Remember, the reviews system is not for messaging the author. The PM messaging system is for messaging the author. Any reviews that are not reviews will be deleted. If you want to tell me something, then send me a message by going to my profile, not by dropping a review.

Chapter Twenty-Three is already halfway written, so it probably won't be four months until the next update. Noah Brimstrome is almost ready for his piece of the action…


	24. The Source of Insanity

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: I decided to splurge on the details of the Diclonius Research Facility. Don't let the scale of things blow your mind.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twenty-Four: The Source of Insanity_

[Day Two (2) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 1:35AM]

The Diclonius Research Facility was located on a privately owned island off the coast of Cuba. Of course, its name was something completely different. Publically, the research facility was named the Artificial Human Evolution Research Facility 3rd Branch. It was well known as a scientific experimental testing site used to research ways to facilitate human evolution with artificial means.

The island itself was actually a marvel of American ingenuity, an artificially formed island. It was created by first digging thirteen square kilometers of earth out of the ocean floor and dropping a gigantic bell-shaped iron into it. Then numerous massive tubes were attached to the bell and all the water was pumped out. As the water was pumped out, the bell became filled with sand and it sunk into the ocean floor. Then they began to pile up fifty-seven hundred sections of bedrock around the bell shape like building blocks, using the bell shape as an anchor. Each section of bedrock weighed more than a hundred tons. The whole shape of the island was roughly that of a trapezoid. There were artificial hollow cavities already drilled inside the sections that lined up when it was built properly. There was no need to excavate the island. The top of the island was about a quarter of a mile above sea level, five square kilometers around, with cliffs facing in every direction. Every plant on the island had been planted by hand, except for the grass. Every forest had been designed to run along the gaps between the sections of bedrock. Already the trees had extended their roots deep into the nutrient-enriched soil, helping stabilize the island by holding back erosion.

Project TERRAFRONT had taken more than fifteen years to complete, and another four years for the construction of the facility itself. It had cost the White House around ten trillion dollars over nineteen years. There had been an enormous uproar from opposing political parties, but finances for Project TERRAFRONT had been pushed through both the House and Senate with ludicrous ease. It was such a public project that there was nobody who suspected its secret function.

The public surface facility was about three square kilometers in size and extended more than two kilometers straight down. There was only one functional elevator that led straight to the surface, although there were thirty elevators altogether, with a small number of private elevators that reached surface-side. Just like the main elevator, each one of these private elevators had safeties installed in the shafts. If any of these elevators were accessed without authorization, the entire shaft would be filled with a liquid chemical that solidified to become stronger than steel.

The main elevator was gigantic, twenty square yards, and could carry over a hundred tons without slowing. The main elevator connected the surface to the subterranean storage cavern where the majority of employees worked by moving boxes and maintaining machinery. Even further down were the offices and research laboratories. In fact, the subterranean research facility was even larger than the public surface facility. There were about six kilometers of hallways and corridors beneath the surface alone.

And of course, that doesn't include the diclonius storage cells. These are located at the very bottom, almost inside the artificial foundation of the island. There was exactly one elevator that led to from the diclonius storage cells to the subterranean research facility. There were nine cell blocks that contained about fifty cells. None of the cell blocks were filled to capacity, but the population of diclonius was spread evenly across all nine blocks. Every cell block was designed to fill with sea water if a single -diclonius in that cell block even tried to escape. And if one escaped diclonius managed to make it to the research labs, then the main elevator shaft would detonate and sever the connection between the surface labs and the subterranean labs. There were two cell blocks submerged with sea water, and another one currently being drained of water. There had been no escape attempts, just a reoccurring malfunction that caused the safeties to engage.

The entire surface facility was a farce, a hoax that occasionally regurgitated scientific documents to prove to the scientific community that there were indeed studies being done on artificial human evolution. There were even tours available where select few members could visit the place and look in awe at all the men in white coats and safety goggles. The surface uniform was specifically tailored to meet the stereotypical image of a scientist and the "scientists" were just well-paid actors. They even had test tubes with multi-colored liquids. Most of the liquids had fancy long labels on them to make them seem more scientific. But the majority of test tubes were just filled with water mixed with food coloring. The only parts of the surface facility that were used by the actual employees were the parking lots, the elevator, the docks, the airfield, and the games-room.

Noah Brimstrome was in his office in the subterranean facility. He was wearing a dark blue suit and tie, black stainless shoes, expensive cologne, and a grim expression. His office had four gigantic windows, which were in fact flat-screen monitors synchronized to show the same luscious environment. The "screen saver" windows were programmed to reflect real time day-to-night transitions. This means that if Noah were in his office at night, the windows would show a nighttime view. Even the waxing and waning of the moon was kept in real-time. Right at this moment, a nighttime safari was filled with poppy stalks. Their white feathery seeds glistened in the moonlight. Even though this was his favorite screen saver, Noah wasn't paying any attention to it.

The grimness of Noah's expression could be attributed to the News Website he was browsing. According to the site, a gruesome murder had taken place in Toledo one night ago. It had gotten underneath his radar somehow, but there was a new development that triggered Noah's NEWSSNIFFER program. Police were being secretive about the investigation, but someone had managed to leak pictures of the murder-scene. Noah briefly considered finding whoever had leaked the image to offer them a job. Then Noah realized that the man was probably already employed by Jeremiah Fontenot.

Most of the images were just blood splatters and a pile of corpses. But there was one image that held a major piece of information for Noah. It was the image of a clear handprint in a concrete wall.

"Shit." Noah breathed out loud.

The murder was without a doubt Subject D-1's work. That handprint could only have been left by a vector. Judging from the sheer brutality of the murders, the Subject was obviously more mentally unstable than Noah had originally thought. It looked like a wild animal had torn through them. Except that there was a strange efficiency found in the murders.

One body had her throat crushed and her heart punched out her spine. The crushed throat was probably meant to keep her from screaming. The second body had been split open with just a single slash across the stomach to incapacitate the man, and then a second slash to decapitate him. It was very efficient, with no chance for a struggle.

But this analysis falls apart when compared to the third body. It was an elderly woman who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But for some reason, the Subject had killed her with extreme prejudice, impaling her with over ten knives. That wasn't efficient at all, more like a random act of violence than a calculated murder. It would read like an entirely different MO to any detective. Could that have been Michael's intention, to mislead the police into thinking there were multiple killers? It was a possibility, but the sheer viciousness felt too… authentic. It felt rather that Michael had simply lost control of himself for a reason unapparent. Thinking back to the video of Session 616, Noah thought about Michael's apparent mental degeneration. It seemed to have been reversed back then, but what if…

_Michael's skull contains two organs, the brain and the vector generating organ. The V organ sits directly between both sides of the brain in place of the pineal gland. It grants him great power, but in exchange, the weight and size of the organ… could he already be…?_

Noah then realized that he had thought of the Subject with his given name three times.

Compared to the mystery behind the third murder, the handprint was easy enough to decipher. It was a message to all those who would understand the power required put that shape in the wall. It read like a challenge, a proclamation that shouted "I am the strongest!" to the whole world. However, it also had a deeper, underlying meaning. It was a message to the ones who know exactly what kind of monster had that power. It was a warning to Noah himself that said "I'm not afraid of you."

Noah leaned back and smirked. The Subject was clearly underestimating Noah's resources. He had no idea of the sheer scale of which Noah had planned. An Alpha-priority mission granted Noah more resources than he had ever dreamed. He had the power to do everything he wished with no consequences. Noah opened up a file on his computer that read PROJECT TERRAFRONT2. Noah had already started construction of his own research facility, located in Canada, north of the Great Lakes. Noah wasn't interested in building his own island; that would take far too long. The estimated time for construction was three years, but Noah was paying them enough to have it finished in two.

Being Director of his own Diclonius Research Facility was one step of Noah's plans. Once he was Director, he would have more resources than even this Alpha-priority mission bestowed him. Noah could hardly imagine all the things he would be capable of. And imagination was one of Noah's specialties.

Brimstrome closed the file and leaned back on his chair, deep in thought. Noah wondered how long he could stretch this mission out for. If his plans for his own research facility were discovered by Director Ayerman, then Noah could be terminated from his job. And being terminated from his job was the equivalent to being terminated period.

Or perhaps there was another way. Perhaps Noah could use Subject D-1's murder spree as a way to rationalize the construction of a new research facility. After all, if Subject D-1 was murdering indiscriminately, then he was most likely also infecting people too. A new research facility would be required to handle the influx of newborn diclonii. It wasn't without risk, but Ayerman was no fool and would grant Noah permission to use any method required to keep the infection from spreading. This was Noah's greatest skill; the ability to turn everything to his advantage.

A new plan began to form in Noah's mind. It was an incredible sensation, watching all order spring from chaos. For every obstacle that Noah predicted, he thought up three or four solutions to overcome it. For every action, he planned eight steps ahead to foresee the consequences. The delicate calculations involved in risk versus reward could not be done by a mere machine. Man's greatest computer is his brain. A thousand super-computers couldn't match the processing power of the human brain. A commonly misquoted statistic says that humans only use 10% of their brains. The true statistic is that humans only use 10% of their brain at given time for conscious thought and action, the remaining 90% of the brain is spent on involuntary bodily functions, memory storage, and keeping that 10% firing.

Noah gazed at his favorite screensaver and allowed himself an empty smile. Here he was, standing two kilometers underground in an air conditioned room in the middle of a gigantic scientific research facility built upon an artificial island the size of San Salvador. If this is what 10% of the human brain can accomplish, then that's nothing to scoff at. Diclonius brains are even more mysterious. Since their V organs are about 1000% the size of human pineal glands, they require more power. And more power to the V organ means less power for the rest of the brain. Humans require 90% of their brain power to keep the remaining 10% functioning. It could very well be true that the diclonius V organ is drawing on that 90%.

"_Could the source of their power be the source of their insanity?"_ Noah mused to himself. _"Perhaps their 10% is malfunctioning because their V organ is hemorrhaging the brain's nutrients and bioelectricity. The V organ is about ten times the size of the pineal gland and ten times as heavy. The size and weight could be causing brain damage, coupled with the V organ's steady draw on the brain's power, which could explain why diclonius seem so much less stable than us."_

Noah was a great fan of tragic irony. He would have Dr. Suchong study his theory, but at the moment the good doctor was preoccupied with Noah's ace in the hole. She was almost ready. Everything was falling into place, like pieces of a puzzle.

* * *

End Chapter Twenty-Four: The Source of Insanity

Working title: Numbnut10 Buries You in an Avalanche of Information and Hopes You Don't Read It.

So hopefully you didn't read all that. Because if I find so much as one review about how illogical that island creating business is, I might have to wag a naughty-naughty finger at you. Seriously though, I studied (read: skimmed) articles about artificial islands. I'm practically knowledgeable about the subject.


	25. Dark Memories

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: Imagine if someone gave you an unbelievable choice. On one hand, you could gain ten thousand dollars, tax free. On the other hand, you could make every person who has ever wronged you fall into debt for ten thousand dollars.

What would you do? Are you the type of person who wants to live the high life? Or would you rather watch your enemies burn to the ground?

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twenty-Five: Dark Memories_

[Day Two (2) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 10:24 PM]

I scratched at my young face with one hand as I peered into a cracked, filthy mirror. The cuts I had sustained from the broken glass (was it days or hours) was not healing like I had hoped. The skin had not returned to its usual pale color yet. In fact, it seemed that the cuts were turning into scars, permanent reminders of how close I came to losing my life. Worst of all, pieces of glass were still poking through at the most inopportune times. I had to itch and scratch at each piece until I could finally remove it with my nails or vectors.

It wasn't like I cared about my personal appearance. But when your reflection changes without your permission, it feels like a betrayal. I've grown used to one face looking back at me through a mirror. Now it's a new face and I don't like it. It appears that I was overestimating my ability to heal. With a burst of focus, I slipped the piece of glass out of my epidermis. A thin bead of blood began to trickle down the side of my face. The vector tossed it away and I returned to the mirror. The left side of my misshapen head, from my cheekbone to the corner of my eye to just above my ear, was a mess of ripped red flesh and pink scar tissue. My earlobe now had a small chunk of flesh missing, as though someone went at it with a paper-puncher. Apparently I had whipped my head to the right by reflex when that first grenade exploded. I may never grow sideburns evenly again.

"Well, so much for delusions of invincibility." I sighed despondently. If I was expecting sympathy, then I obviously was looking for it in the wrong places. There was silence, which was becoming less alarming. The voice in my head was terrible with conversations that didn't involve massacre or how much I suck.

I returned to my barren apartment room and locked it from the inside. Then I slipped out the alleyway window and scaled the alley walls until I reached the street. It was becoming easier each time I did it. My vectors were starting to feel like a second pair of arms, or rather five pairs of arms. I could simply think "I want that thing" and my vectors will obediently retrieve it, so long as it wasn't more than two meters away. Or I can control them minutely, like my flesh and blood arms. Sometimes I felt as though the vectors responded faster when I moved my real hands in concert with them. They still weren't dexterous enough to hold a fork and knife properly and trying to write on paper with them felt more awkward than using a non-dominate hand. But maybe through practice simple acts such as tying my shoes opening a pop can will become as thoughtless as my normal hands. That would come in time.

As soon as I stepped out of the dark alley, my red eyes shot toward the three story apartment building opposite of my hotel. There, on the second story, third window from the left, there was movement. Every night since the day I moved into this complex the same thing has happened. It could be nothing, it could be everything. But even if it were Noah's spy, I couldn't go after him. I wanted Noah to know where I was after all. It was a little bit frustrating, but as long as I have eyes on me, I have a connection to him. Now I just needed to turn up the heat.

* * *

Forty boring bus minutes later and I stepped onto a new street. It was another run-down part of Toledo, a trailer park called Sundown Village. At least that's what I think it said; it was sort of hard to make out with the colorful graffiti on the sign. This was going to be another easy night.

This place was predominately a Mexican ghetto and it neighbored Friendly Town, a nice and classy trailer park. Sort of an oxymoron, but the difference between the two parks was the difference between Earth and Hell. I've been in both worlds. Sometimes the line between the two can be blurred. There was a fence built around the nicer park, but that thing never stayed whole for more than a week. Evidently, the cost to repair the fence was a lot higher than it was to cut a hole in it. It's been a long time since I've been here, with no memories worth dredging up. I wondered if I could spare the time to see the old trailer I used to live in alone with my mother. I decided against it, Michael Mordare needed to stay dead.

I walked through a playground where the swing set was missing the swings and the only thing that remained of the slide was the stairs. I remember that the slide used to be as tall as a giraffe. But now that I was here again, the stairs were barely taller than I was. I walked through lawns that had broken beer bottles glistening in the moonlight. I passed trailers were the lights were on and high pitched screams were exchanged. I learned a lot of colorful Mexican words by walking like this in my childhood. I strolled through streets where the grass struggled to live in this filthy pit filled with shit. I could vaguely remember some of the streets, but most of my time was spent in my trailer with an ugly hat over my ugly head.

A trip down memory lane was not my objective here. I should just clean up this place a bit and leave. Why did I even get off here? Perhaps I just wanted a reminder of how disgusting humans were. They were like pigs wallowing in their own waste. I've never even been in the nice neighborhood. I wasn't allowed out while Mom was working. The trouble was she was always working at one of her three part-time jobs. I made a lot of imaginary friends here.

Before I knew it, I had stopped in front of an all too familiar place. It was a small brown paneled trailer with only two windows and two bedrooms. The restroom was no larger than a closet with the toilet nearly touching the bathtub. The kitchen was too small to fit three people in and the living room had two small tables in front of the couch. At least that's what I remember; the current owners might have found a better arrangement. I shouldn't kill these people. I need to be completely indiscriminate.

With one last glance, I walked away from the old trailer with a strange mixture of nostalgia and regret stirring in my stomach. I might have hated my blackened childhood, but was my present any better? Was it any worse? All I could do is hold on to my beautiful memories and keep walking. Exhale and inhale, exhale and inhale, just one step in front of the other, because that's the way to live.

The dark memories banished for the time being, I started to look at the trailers. The current criteria still held. No children and no pregnant women. I would be damned before I committed infanticide. Unfortunately, this was the type of place where people could only spend the time drinking, stealing, and fucking. Maybe I should try the nicer park? That place has a pool, or so I've heard. Did I have to worry about being witnessed by neighborhood watch if I was quick with my work?

Nah, this place would be better. I'd like to see the police get a word out of any of these people. And even if they found someone, the chances that the scandalmonger would speak their language is slim at best. I would like to keep the police from making any headway. I can't imagine them actually finding me, but I wasn't an expert about police work.

At last I found a trailer that had no sign of children. Maybe it was the two door car? Maybe because this particular trailer looked somewhat more habitable than the other ones, as though the inhabitants had money to spend? Maybe because the beers that littered the lawn were remarkably expensive? No, it wasn't any of those. I simply knew that there were only two humans in that trailer. There was a pressure in the back of my skull that told me this. It was the same pressure I felt when I was in the forest.

Somehow the act of discarding my hatred was harder than before. This place was soaked in the memories of a heartbroken child, threatening to float to the surface. With one great breath out, I sank into the chilled black ocean waters of serenity. My heart was a million miles away. I was not going to be polluted by this act. I strode up to the door and raised a vector. Ethereal knuckles rapped on the plastic door. Just for practice, I rapped different vectors on the same spot. I didn't manage to hit the same spot with each vector, not before the door swung open.

"What are you doing knocking on my door so many times?"

The irritated tone belonged to a tall Mexican man with a muscular build and short, black hair. He had a square face and narrow eyes which were squinting at me. He was wearing an orange shirt and faded jeans. His thick accent made it difficult to understand him, but then again, I wasn't here to listen to his yelling. I was here to listen to his death rattle.

The big man opened his mouth to shout at me again. I drove a single vector into his solar plexus with considerable force. All of the air expelled from his open mouth and he stumbled backwards into his trailer. I stepped inside and closed the door with a second vector. Struggling to breath, the Mexican looked up at me with livid eyes. A third vector struck him in the jaw, neatly dislocating it.

I sensed the presence of a second human. With an enraged scream of "Ernesto!" a fat red-headed woman wielding a shotgun appeared in my peripheral vision. I was genuinely surprised enough to hesitate, although my vectors did not. A fourth and fifth vector lanced out, knocking the weapon out of the woman's hand and punching through her chest respectively. Blood sprayed out of her ruptured heart and splashed against the wooden floor. The heavy gun clattered loudly to the ground. The man screamed even with his jaw hanging uselessly. There was movement in my peripheral vision and my vectors reacted accordingly. The sixth vector hammered his solar plexus again while the seventh vector unzipped his stomach from left to right. A shower of red blood and red intestinal organs pilled out of the open wound. The man fell on top of his own guts and ceased movement.

I didn't stop moving for even a second. I walked to a wall and placed a vector against it, fingers splayed fully. Using minimum effort, the vector pushed into the wall and left a perfectly clear imprint on it. Noah would know that this was his fault.

Without even inspecting my handiwork I turned around and left the trailer. I didn't have a reason to stay, so why stay? The deed was done and the night was young. As I strolled through the blackened street, I found myself staring at the old trailer again. I shouldn't be here, I really shouldn't. But a strong compulsion drove me forth. I walked underneath a barren tree and up three steps to the door. It was locked of course, but I slipped a vector through the door and unlocked it without even seeing. How was I still so familiar with that door?

Carefully pushing the door halfway open, I entered the trailer. It was almost nothing like I remembered. The living room now had a large table, enough to sit five people. The kitchen was still just as small, but the new arrangement had opened up space, easily fitting three people now. I could see into my old bedroom across the living room door. Through the cracked door, I could see a television set and a bunk-bed. I didn't move to explore the trailer more. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly.

When I opened my eyes, the entire trailer had changed. The kitchen was poorly arranged with the refrigerator filled with beer bottles. The living room had two chairs and folding tables facing a small television. There were shelves of junk toys and faint memories. I saw a woman with gaunt features and wiry red hair throwing back her umpteenth bottle. A young boy with pink hair and twin horns walked up to her and asked her a simple question in a tiny voice.

"Why did Daddy leave?"

The intoxicated woman slurred a vicious reply "Because of your fucking horns. That's why that bastard left us, 'cause he couldn't look at you anymore!"

I couldn't breathe, it wasn't right. No, it was exactly right. I thought I had repressed those memories, but this place was bringing them back. I heard another high-pitched voice speak.

"Are you here to rob us, mister?"

I blinked hard and reality reasserted itself. A very young toddler with black hair and large eyes stood before me. He was squeezing his safety blanket tightly. I shouldn't be here, I really shouldn't. I almost spoke, but my voice threatened to crack. Without saying a word I threw the door all the way open and fled from that place.

The dark memories chased me through the night.

* * *

End Chapter Twenty-Five

There are some memories that are best left forgotten. There are some times that are over and done. Perhaps your childhood isn't as pure and simple as you remember. Have you ever looked at your own early psych evaluations and found out that you were a miserable child? It can be quite a shock, especially when you discover that you have absolutely no recollection of even having a childhood.


	26. Dead Ends

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: Detective work is difficult to write, especially when the detective in question has no leads and no suspects. So expect a lot of frustration which may or may not be an outlet for the author. Jessica does not have her work cut out for her; she will have to do a lot of chiseling and uncovering herself. Can she find a clue underneath the bodies? Will she attract unwanted attention to her and her family?

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twenty-Six: Dead Ends_

* * *

[Day Three (3) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 6:25PM]

Jessica was not happy. She was not happy in the slightest. The case had reached a dead stop with absolutely no leads, no suspects, and a death toll of three. The news media were already practically frothing at the mouth at the prospect of such a delightfully bloody story. The murderers were being hailed as the most diabolical terrors to ever strike all of Northwest Ohio. With three bodies in two days, this might very well be true.

"The Overkillers." Jared declared. He pulled a chair next to Jessica's desk and dropped his ass into it. Jessica turned away from her coffee to face him and raised a sharp eyebrow questioningly.

"What did you just say?" she asked finally.

"The news media are calling these two murderers the Overkillers." he clarified. His tone was that of mild disgust and repugnance.

"Oh for the love of—" Jessica exasperated. She cut herself off with a tentative sip of coffee. It was still too hot.

Jared raised both hands in surrender. "Hey, I didn't pick the name. Since these killers left such a mess in the first scene, the media apparently thought that the killers were bit overkill. There's no kill like overkill as they always say."

"It's been a long time since we've had any stringed murders. I bet the reporters were just looking tearing their hair out in search of news that didn't have to do with Japan's second year of isolation. The rest of the world is still scratching their head over why such an important country would suddenly close their borders and cease all trade and communication. And now Ohio finally has news of its own. The goddamn media must be filling their pants with glee at the prospect of a good murder story."

Jared shrugged and spoke "I still can't believe that Japan stopped all Internet access into their country. The entire island is cut off from the world and we haven't a clue why. All we have is a leaked document that mentions a super-contagious virus that just exploded all over the place overnight about two years ago. Supposedly there are hundreds of thousands of carriers already. Nobody is allowed in or out and everyone that tries to leave is killed."

"What do you think the virus is?" Jessica asked all of the sudden before she tested the coffee again.

Jared suddenly smiled goofy "I think that it's a zombie virus!"

Jessica snorted in her hot coffee, burning her tongue. She gagged and spilled some onto her desk, sticking her burned tongue out and fanning it with an open hand. Jared quickly grabbed the papers of reports off her desk before the puddle of coffee could drench them.

"Look what you made me do." Jessica coughed into her elbow.

Jared just grinned. At the very least, the Egyptian-American looked about 1% apologetic. All of the sudden Chief Isaac stepped into view and leaned against Jessica's desk. He had his annoyed face on.

"Am I to assume that this commotion means you found a lead?"

"No sir." Jessica replied meekly. Jared looked about 2% apologetic.

"I just got off the phone with the mayor. He wants this case solved fast, no matter what. He says that the entire department should be engaged in this case and I'm starting to agree with him."

"Sir, with all due respect, we already have Jared, Steward, Aaron, and I working on this case and we haven't made any progress. The whole department isn't going to be able to magically make more information appear."

The number of detectives on this case had risen by two this morning. Steward Tyler and Aaron Lemon were two excellent detectives. They're also a couple that's been going steady longer than Jessica has known Lucas. Their being openly gay had not had any impact whatsoever; even Jared didn't tease them about it, most of the time.

Steward was tall and had light hair with a short mustache. He always had to pipe up to speak, constantly suggesting ways to work about a case. Jessica appreciated his enthusiasm and so did Aaron. Aaron was short and stout, often found snaking on donuts. He was practically the perfect reflection of a stereotypical fat cop, amusing Jared to no end. Apparently Steward had suggested that he try to diet, because he was now chewing through a bag of green grapes instead of pastries.

"Oh hey, the fruit-loops are back." Jared said, still grinning. Steward made a face at Jared and Aaron just walked in behind him.

"Did you two find anything?" Jessica asked hopefully. Aaron shook his head and swallowed hard.

"Sorry Jess, we called every specialty store from Toledo to Bowling Green that carries medieval weapons and nobody has bought a spear and a sword. There have been well-known collectors buying swords, but spears aren't really on the market."

Jessica threw her hands in the air and moaned in anguish before crossing her arms on her desk and burying her face in them. Steward spoke up "Maybe we could get a list of all their buyers and talk to them?"

"Fine, go do that." Jessica mumbled from her arms. The Chief laid his hand on Jessica's shoulder. She lifted her head and turned toward the Chief. Her frustration quickly spilled out.

"These guys are leaving no evidence and there's nothing that we can find that links the deceased. The killers are just picking their victims at random and so we can't predict where they'll strike next. They've already got away with it twice and they might have hit a third time already. So far, nobody has reported a third murder but with the way these Overkillers are working, they aren't leaving any survivors."

"Overkillers?"

"Stupid media nickname."

"That's probably why the mayor called. This isn't going to look good for him if we can't stop this quick."

"We're doing the best we can, sir."

"I know it, believe me I do."

The Chief walked away leaving Jessica feeling more disappointed than ever. With nothing left to do, Jessica opened up the Nelson, Shakira Q/A file. It was a question and answer statement made by the closest thing they have to a witness, Shakira Nelson. She was the girl who found her boyfriend's dead body less than fifteen minutes after his death. Most of the statement was basic stuff establishing her alibi. Jared Ishtar had been the one to take her statement after Jessica left last morning.

Jessica scrolled down toward the bottom.

J: So you say you did have a fight with Mr. Wilson before you left?

S: Yeah, I stormed out of there in my pajamas and that was the last time I saw him… al— alive.

J: Did you happen to see anyone suspicious on the street? Anyone wearing unusually bagging clothing or maybe concealing something?

S: (laughs) Hun, you just described half the block. And the other half are skanky hoes.

J: So you didn't see anyone?

S: I just took my suitcase of shit and went to the bus station. The only person that was there was this red-headed teen that was probably running away from home for the umpteenth time.

J: Nothing else happened?

S: The kid just asked me if I had a fight with my man and told me that I should give him a second chance.

J: And that's when you went back?

S: I sure did, and that's when… I found him dead.

J: Thank you for your time. A policeman will escort you out.

/FILE END

Jessica read it from top to bottom as well as Jared's notes. There wasn't anything useful that she could gleam from the statement. Richard's autopsy report did nothing but raise more questions. In his notes he said that the weapons used left no fragments behind. He wrote that the sword must have been honed to surgical sharpness because the cuts were perfectly clean. Even Johnny's dismembered hand had been lobbed off with one clean strike, even though such finely sharpened blades would be fragile. How can an edge be so sharp as to cut through muscle, flesh, and bone and yet so strong as to leave behind no fragments? Jessica did not have a clue, it just didn't seem possible.

Nothing in this case made sense. How were two people with a spear and a sword able to walk through a neighborhood completely undetected? A short sword could be strapped to one killer's back and hidden underneath a hoodie. Maybe the spear was foldable? Jessica has heard of spears that could be broken into three pieces connected together. But the idea of them being used in modern times was just insane.

On that subject, Jessica's inquiries to asylums and prisons have revealed no breakouts. Nobody with either killer's MO has been released either. There were no leads, no clues, and no suspects! Just two insane murderers passing through neighborhoods unseen, killing people with the most improbable weapons, and getting away equally unseen. The only thing that links the two murders together is the handprint and they still don't have a clue as to how it was even formed. The only thing that makes sense is that the murderers carry a metal mold of a hand with them and use a hammer to knock it into a wall. Interestingly enough, there doesn't appear to be anything stolen either. Every victim's wallet was untouched and there isn't any sign of missing jewelry. It's as though the killers have no motivation. It's as though they just revel in the act of ending another person's life. Jessica felt cold and a deep pit formed in her belly.

It was like trying to catch a lightning bolt.

At least the mayor was trying too. He made a public plea to civilians to keep their doors locked and to not open the door to answer it at night. He urged neighborhood watches to double their efforts to keep the streets safe and to report any sightings of two strangers walking together. He promised that triple the policemen would be patrolling neighborhoods at night. It appeared obvious to Jessica that the killers would stick to less compliant neighborhoods that weren't on the usual patrols. Jessica hoped that they would get lucky; it may be the only thing that gets those killers caught.

The hours passed painfully slow. Jessica felt as though the clock was conspiring against her. There have been no calls and no more bodies have turned up. There was simply nothing to do but wait for Richard to finish examining the three bodies and construct a possible lead. Jessica stared hard at the white-board with pictures of the victims and the words "medieval weapons?" written in red marker. No connections between the victims have come up. The Freemans probably didn't even know Johnny Wilson existed.

Jessica was about to turn in for the night when the phone on her desk abruptly rang. Her hand lashed out like a viper's strike and she whipped the phone off its cradle and up to her ear in a second. A baritone voice spoke from the phone.

"Is this the desk of Jessica Hawker?"

"Yes it is." Jessica replied.

"We've just got a report of a double homicide. There is a handprint embedded in a wall. This connects it to your case, am I right?"

"Yes it does, what's the address?"

Jessica wrote the following address and quietly cursed. It wasn't silent enough. The deep voice sounded amused.

"Is there a problem miss detective?"

"Pardon my French, but this address is in the Sunset Village. The local police get almost five calls a week about that place."

The voice chuckled darkly and hung up. Jessica grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair and trotted to Jared's office. Along the way she bumped into Aaron who she instructed to inform Steward. His pudgy face screwed up in detestation when she told him the address. She stopped by the Chief's office to tell him the news and to inform him of the new development. Finally she made it to Jared's desk.

"Hey Jared, we've got a call about a double homicide in the Sunset Village. A handprint says it's our Overkillers again."

Jared didn't look happy. "That place? It isn't like we don't go there enough already! The residents already kill themselves. It honestly wouldn't surprise me if our killers grew up in that shithole."

"Stop complaining, we're going to the armory to get some Kevlar and maybe some riot shields."

"Can't we just nuke it from orbit?"

Jessica gave him a hard stare.

"Just to be sure?" Jared pleaded.

* * *

The drive time was thirty minutes and Jessica wasn't keen for the destination. Jared sat next to her, equally restless. There were places where police work was met with hostility and the Sunset Village was one of them. It wasn't like the last address where the neighbors were merely uncooperative. These people were much more dangerous. It was a regular shithole where every resident fiercely believed that all of their problems were someone else's fault.

Jessica pulled up into the trailer park and spotted a policeman waving her vehicle down. She stopped and rolled down her window, flashing her badge to the policeman. He gave her the thumbs up and pointed her in the direction of the trailer. It wasn't hard to find anyways, just a few curves and a stop in front of a wall of squadron cars. Every policeman stood behind their cars, keeping an eye on the windows and doors of other trailers. There were no door to door questions here; it would be both futile and dangerous.

Jessica stepped out of the driver's seat and Jared exited the passenger's side. No later than she put her foot down did a policeman with body armor escort her toward the crime scene. The cold wind raked her short red hair as she hurried into the trailer. She could feel the tension in the air. Dark eyes glowered at them from behind patchwork curtains and window drapes. Jared pushed the door open and entered behind Jessica.

The trailer was fairly large. There was a big television albeit with a great deal of blood splattered across the screen. There were no pictures on the wall or on the tables. The wooden floor had no scratches or scuff marks. The place looked barely lived in. Lying in the middle of the trailer were two dead bodies, identified as Ernesto and Rosetta Gomez. They were lying apart, however Ernesto's hand was stretched out toward Rosetta's body. It was as though he were reaching for her hand before the life left his body. There was a shotgun lying on the ground a few feet from Rosetta's body. Three forensic units were photographing the bodies from different angles. Richard Herman looked up from his camera and flashed Jessica a smile that she did not meet. His smile withered into a grimace and he took one last picture before walked up to her.

Richard spoke, "This looks a lot like the first kill scene. The male victim was disemboweled and the female victim has what holds all the appearances of a spear shoved through her sternum. There aren't any strangle marks on either bodies but there are some marks on the female victim's wrist." Richard scratched his nose. There looked to be some scented lotion rubbed around his nostrils.

Jared pointed at the shotgun on the floor. It was simply sitting beside Rosetta's body. Richard stopped scratching his nose and shrugged. "The victim definitely tried to use it in self defense. I think one of the killers knocked it out of her hand, which would explain the lesion marks on her wrist." Richard scratched at his hairnet.

"Alright, anything else you can tell us, Herman?" Jessica asked.

"Not much until I get back to the lab, but the blood splatter on the television seems to be… I don't know… weird somehow." Richard pointed his finger at the TV and waved it in a general circle.

Jessica turned to look at the blood splatter and stared intently. The longer she looked, the more the blood seemed to be shaped like something. Something similar to a five pointed star with four points directed up and one to the side. Jared spoke up "It looks like a handprint."

The three of them fell into silence as they tried to understand what it could mean. "I think it's just an optical illusion. The brain is trying to understand the blood splatter and it just makes us think of something familiar like the human hand." Richard and Jared nodded slowly as Jessica tried to steer the discussion back on subject. "Speaking of handprint, where is our killer's mark?"

Richard answered "You walked past it when you came in the door. Seems the killer just wanted to get out of here. It's not as deep as the others and it is closer to the door than the bodies."

"Who wouldn't want to get out of his shit-hole?" Jared murmured.

Jessica was about to answer when there was a powerful deep-throated roar. It was the sound of gunfire! Jessica immediately shoved Richard to his knees while Jared dropped at the same time. Jessica ran while crouching to the door, drawing her pistol with one hand. She used her other hand to open the door and peered outside. Every policeman was taking cover behind their cars with their guns in hand. She quickly spotted the gunman. He was a middle-aged Mexican with a bald head and a goatee. He was wearing a grimy wife-beater with long, torn jeans. He held a sawed off double-barrel shotgun in one hand while screaming Mexican obscenities to the police. Every policeman was yelling back, ordering him to get on the ground and to drop his weapon.

His answer came in the shape of another shotgun blast. The hood of one police-car shredded apart just above one policeman's head. He slid further down, face white as snow. He didn't look hurt—

The Mexican spotted Jessica and lifted the gun toward her direction. She immediately threw herself back just as a large section of the doorframe was reduced to wooden chips. Jared grabbed her arm and yanked her further from the door.

"Fuck!" Jessica cursed aloud, "There's a lone shotgun guy. He keeps shooting at us whenever we pop our heads up!"

Jared asked something, but his voice sounded muffled. She could hear her heart beating in her ears. Jessica felt her ears, there was no blood. His face was contorted with anger. Richard was lying on the floor, motionless. A fourth shotgun blast filled the air followed by shattering glass. Then there was the sound of a single pistol shot as though from a great distance. Jessica and Jared shared looks and moved toward the door. Jared held Jessica back and peered around the splintered doorframe. Then he stood up and walked outside, beaconing to her. Jessica looked at Richard.

"You can get up now." Jessica sighed. She felt extremely tired.

She pushed herself to her feet and walked outside. The Mexican was lying on his back with blood on his chest. His empty eyes were filled with the reflection of the grey clouds. Nobody approached his body. Neighbors opened their doors and watched from the safety of their homes. It didn't look like anyone was crying. The gunman probably didn't have any family. There was a policeman holding his gun tightly, his eyes locked onto the body. A trail of smoke wisped out from his pistol. His entire body trembled, but not with the cold.

Jessica has never shot anybody. She doesn't know what it's like to take someone's life. She's heard of men who drink themselves to their grave over killing someone, no matter how justified it was. Another policeman was already on the horn, talking rapidly into it. His voice was too muffled for her to understand anything.

She walked up to the shaking policeman and put her hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her. His face was lean and haggard, eyes as empty as the body in the street. He leaned forward onto the hood of the police-car. Eyes downcast, he put his pistol on the hood and just began to breathe heavy.

Ringing filled her ears as Jessica's hearing returned. She thanked the policeman and walked to her car. Jared let himself in the passenger seat and they drove off without saying a word. There was nothing to say.

* * *

End Chapter Twenty-Six: Dead Ends

Ever since the Diclonius Virus was unleashed over a major city in Japan, the entire country has been on lock down. Remember, that virus has the ability to destroy humanity. If that virus ever escaped, then all of human civilization is put in unbelievable peril.

Just one infection is all it takes to plunge the world into ceaseless chaos. Just. One. Loose. Diclonius.


	27. Blackest Flight

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: The news media have found a delicious bone to chew on. Amongst a sea of lifeless skeletons stripped of all their meat, they have finally found a piece of gristle to fill their ravenous stomachs. They're biting and chewing on that slice of red substance like there was no tomorrow. Every headline screams "TWO MORE DEAD BY THE OVERKILLERS – CITY LOCKED IN TERROR!"

If it bleeds it sells. They're like scavengers seeking out the most disgusting bit of road-kill to feast on. They're a murder of crows with black wings and blacker eyes, their bloody beaks filled with rotten flesh. They follow a trail of carnage and massacre left behind by a greater predator. Imagine then, if the predator were to come back…

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twenty-Seven: Blackest Flight_

[Day Three (3) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 7:43PM]

I stood in the basement of the Main Library, hands in my pockets and red eyes fixated on a series of TV screens. Each one was turned to a different news channel. None of them had a different story. Bloody pictures of familiar places and faces were spread across all nine screens. Each place was a place that I have been before. There were the downtrodden ghettos, the neatly trimmed neighborhood, and the Sunset Village. Each place was somewhere I had struck, although the dark forested neighborhood was not in the line-up. Apparently nobody had linked that to me.

"_**T**__h__**ey**__ n__**am**__e__**d**__ u__**s**__ t__**h**__e __**O**__v__**e**__r__**kill**__e__**rs**__.__**"**_

"They named "me" the Overkillers."

"_D__**on**__'t __**tr**__y a__**nd**__ t__**ak**__e __**all**__ t__**he**__ cr__**edi**__t, __**at**__te__**n**__t__**ion**__ w__**hor**__e.__**"**_

"Well, it's not like they picked a bad name. I was afraid they'd go with "The Handprint Killers" or something."

"_**Th**__es__**e**__ c__**arr**__io__**n**__ v__**ul**__tu__**re**__s __**m**__a__**k**__e __**m**__e __**sick**__. __**The**__y t__**ur**__n __**ou**__r __**wa**__r a__**ga**__in__**s**__t __**hum**__a__**nit**__y i__**nto**__ a __**pro**__fi__**t."**_

"This is what we wanted, isn't it? The higher the body count goes the more pressure Noah feels."

"_Y__**ou**__'v__**e**__ b__**een**__ g__**oin**__g __**fo**__r t__**h**__e e__**asy**__ k__**ills**__, __**th**__e __**No**__bo__**dies**__ t__**ha**__t __**no**__b__**od**__y __**c**__ar__**es**__ ab__**out**__. __**You**__ w__**a**__n__**t**__ No__**ah**__, __**yo**__u __**kill them."**_

Samael spread his hands, palms up, toward the screens. All of those news reporters were talking at the same time. Their scripted words all jumbled together in a chaotic concerto of greed and depravity. Each one spoke of how tragic the murders were, but did any of them actually see anything other than a high ratings score?

"Killing a high profile person is going to be much more difficult."

The Voice snickered darkly and faded. He was still there; I could feel him watching me like a face under my skin. The first thing I needed to do was figure out who didn't have children. But that wasn't a problem because I was in the basement of an Internet-equipped library. Humans made information so easy to gather.

It didn't take long to get the addresses of a number of TV reporters who lived in Toledo. I sat in front a computer and searched a number of strings until I found what I wanted. My main problem was also quickly remedied. I found miniature biographies of each reporter on the main sites. It took a bit of reading, but I found which ones were divorced and alone. I had their addresses, their schedules, their very lives in my hands.

Now to pick one…

"_**W**__h__**y**__ ju__**st**__ o__**ne?**__ S__**la**__u__**ght**__e__**r**__i__**ng**__ t__**he**__m __**al**__l __**w**__o__**ul**__d __**p**__u__**t**__ y__**ou**__ o__**n**__ t__**h**__e __**m**__a__**p**__. __**No**__ah __**wou**__ld h__**ave**__ t__**o**__ r__**e**__a__**c**__t, __**gu**__a__**ran**__te__**e**__d.__**"**_

"I don't need to kill a lot of people, just a small amount every night. There's no need to overexert myself."

"_**Th**__en t__**hat**__ o__**ne**__.__**"**_ Samael pointed at an older reporter whose name was Robert D. Walker.

"But why did you pick him?"

"_**D**__o__**n't**__ l__**ik**__e __**hi**__s __**f**__ac__**e**__.__**"**_

"That's a little too… random."

"_**Y**__o__**u**__ t__**h**__i__**nk**__ t__**oo**__ m__**uc**__h, __**no**__w __**g**__o __**k**__i__**l**__l __**him."**_

I couldn't make a counterargument. Old Robert was divorced and his home wasn't out of town. I decided to map out a route from the Main Library to 4585 Maple Avenue. As it turned out, it really was a great distance. I hadn't even considered transportation. All of the sudden I felt foolish.

"Okay, really now. What am I supposed to do, walk for twenty-something miles?"

I turned my misshapen head toward the image of my insanity. He stared back, a precarious glint in his blue eyes.

"_**W**__h__**y**__ w__**al**__k w__**hen**__ y__**o**__u __**ca**__n __**fly?"**_

Then he opened his mouth and explained…

* * *

As soon as I heard what the Boy meant, I ran out the door and back to Hotel Carter. I wasn't running away, it was just the best place I could think to start off this exercise. I stood in the dark alleyway, beneath my window. I craned my neck upward to the roof and readied myself. This was going to take everything I had learned about my vectors and put it to the test.

Eleven vectors snaked out of my back and began to pull me up toward my apartment window. Within thirty seconds I reached the fifth floor with little effort. Then I carried myself further, all the way to the roof. There was a chain-link fence that surrounded the entire roof, so I flipped up and balanced on the fence. My vectors looped through and around the fence and supported me. From all the way up here I could see further than I thought.

And then I flew.

When I mean I flew, I don't mean I jumped. I mean I took two vectors and _threw myself_. I wrapped the vectors around my body and shoved off that fence so hard that the metal buckled underneath the force. I hadn't judged my trajectory or gauged my strength. I wasn't the kind of guy to think things out thoroughly, I just acted.

The world dropped away and I soared through the air like a bird. For one glorious moment I couldn't even hear the city sounds. It was like I had achieved enlightenment. Michigan Street passed beneath me as I sailed on the winds. I hadn't expected to go this far, I didn't know my own strength. I began to fall. A two story building on the opposite side of Michigan Street raced up to meet me. If I landed at this speed, my legs would snap in two. Eleven vectors lanced out and slapped the roof, negating my forward momentum and dropped me to the ground.

I dropped to my knees and sucked down deep breath after breath. Samael stood in front of me with a dangerous grin. _**"Yo**__u __**d**__i__**dn'**__t __**e**__v__**en**__ th__**ink**__ t__**w**__i__**ce**__ a__**b**__o__**u**__t __**tha**__t.__**"**_ Samael said.

"Sorry." I gasped "That second thought only occurred after I jumped. Still, it worked just fine. I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner."

I stood up and felt a stab of pain in my left leg. I looked down and saw that I had scraped my ankle on the roof edge. I hadn't even felt it through all the adrenaline. I could still walk on it, so this was still a successful run. There were just a few kinks to work out, but now I had transportation. No more bus fares for me.

"_**Do**__n'__**t**__ f__**or**__g__**e**__t __**y**__o__**ur**__ m__**is**__si__**on**__. __**Y**__o__**u'r**__e __**hea**__d__**in**__g __**i**__n __**th**__e __**w**__ro__**ng**__ d__**ir**__e__**cti**__o__**n**__. T__**ur**__n __**ar**__ou__**nd**__ a__**n**__d __**ge**__t __**m**__o__**vin**__g. __**You**__'v__**e**__ g__**ot**__ t__**wen**__t__**y-**__t__**wo**__ m__**ile**__s __**to**__ c__**ov**__e__**r**__. __**Bet**__t__**e**__r __**ho**__pe y__**ou**__ c__**an**__ m__**ak**__e __**i**__t i__**n**__ o__**ne**__ p__**i**__ec__**e."**_

Samael pointed in the right direction, which was northward. I had jumped south-westward. If that first jump was about half-strength, then roughly speaking—

I wrapped three vectors around my body and two braced my head. Six vectors slammed against the roof and I took to the skies. I felt weightless in my own hands. I jumped from rooftop to rooftop, gradually getting the hang of my new talent. I couldn't make every jump, so I would have to keep jumping around tall buildings. Fortunately there weren't many of them except for uptown Toledo. I kept mind of my dangling legs and arms until I started using them to keep the momentum going. My feet landed on a wide roof of another building and I started running across it. I didn't even stop when I reached the edge. I simply used my vectors to spring over the edge and kept going. The wind slid across my reddened cheeks like an icy knife. A thin stream of mist escaped from my lips as I hurtled gracelessly from structure to structure.

Eventually I reached residential neighborhoods where there were no more rooftops. I didn't know how fast I was going or how long it would take for me to get there. I leapt off the last building. Four vectors on either side of my body, two around my torso, and one wrapped around my neck and head. I looked like the angel of death whose namesake I have taken. The cold night air tugged at my blood red hair. Dead grass crunched under my vectors when I landed in someone's backyard. Samael stood in front of me, merely pointing the way. I could still see his Cheshire grin as I jumped over a fence. I kept using my vectors to pull me faster than I could run. They anchored to the harsh brown dirt and yanked me forward while others kept my balance.

Faster and faster, further and further. I barely knew where I was going, yet somehow I was guided by someone who wasn't even there. I just kept jumping from place to place, each time landing more accurately. Lifeless weeds crunched underneath my shoes as my legs pounded them into the cold ground. I passed street after street, doing what I could to stay in the backyards. How many miles have I passed already? Street lights were starting to blink on already.

* * *

[Day Three (3) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 7:59PM]

The sun had set and the heavens w-ere obscured behind a curtain of grey overhanging clouds by the time I arrived. Samael stood in front the house on Maple Avenue. Number 4585 was a two story house with white siding and black window panels. I walked up the driveway which led to a single-car garage. A white Rolls Royce was parked outside. Imagine that, a neighborhood where people actually felt safe enough to leave a Rolls Royce outside after sunset. I think someone's in for a rude awakening.

I strode up a stone pathway to the front door and was about to knock on the door. Then I decided against it, picking that moment for a quick test of my vectors' dexterity. Aiming carefully, I guided a vector straight to the doorbell. The ethereal fingertip pressed against the robin-blue button, a little off center but close enough. A friendly chime rang and I stood still in wait. I stood still, prepared to pounce. I quickly scanned the area and saw no neighbors.

After a few moments I heard heavy shuffling on the other side of the door. I sucked in a breath and exhaled all of my emotions. Cold indifference replaced concern and anxiety. I would simply kill this one human, leave my mark, and then return to the apartment. My red eyes fluttered halfway closed. I felt almost bored already.

The door swung inward and Robert Walker filled the doorway. He was a large old man with grooves of time etched into his face. Wrinkles of laughter long past decorated his cheeks. There were few stress lines. Ancient knuckles gripped the door and held it open as warm eyes looked at me. I would be ending a long and happy life with my hands now. He spoke first, a curious tone in his gravelly voice.

"Who might you be?" Robert asked.

I looked up and bored red eyes met brown. "I am Samael. But you have come to call me the Overkiller."

A second passed. His brown eyes shot open and his jaw dropped. He tried to slam the door shut but my vectors caught it halfway open. The wide old man threw his considerable weight against the door but it wouldn't budge. I let myself in, calmly stepping beside the grunting mass of human. Then I released the door, letting it slam shut loudly. A silver knocker handle clattered against the door. Robert heaved in exertion. A vector snaked out from my body and backhanded him. All two-hundred and seventy pounds of him lifted off the ground and flew away from the door. He landed in a crumpled heap, clutching his chest in pain.

I stood in front of him, feeling nothing. "The police have it wrong. There's no second Overkiller, it's all me. But then again, I can't blame them for coming to wrong conclusions. Something like me doesn't exist in their shared reality." I pointed my thumbs at myself as I strode toward Robert. Vectors slithered out across my path and held the ground. I stepped on one vector and then another like monkey bars. Robert's eyes grew wide as I apparently began to float in midair. His knuckles became white as they gripped his chest even tighter. His fat mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, unable to speak.

I kept climbing until I reached the ceiling, standing directly above him. He craned his neck upward before falling on his ass again. I didn't smile. I had nothing in me to smile. The gnawing nothingness devoured any emotions.

"Congratulations, now you know the truth. Yet I still have to question, do you really understand me? Or are you trying to change the reality of your visions to fit your universe? Do you struggle to rationalize my existence? As a reporter, do you have any questions?"

Robert was visibly shaken. He opened his mouth again and again. Finally he stopped gaping and just whispered three words. "What are you?"

"I am retribution. I am a victim of a raging human race. I am the winds of change. I will be the father of a new race that will replace humankind. I am a diclonius."

And with that I slit his jugular from one ear to another. Richard gurgled as blood filled his esophagus. He clawed at his red neck with pudgy fingers. I lowered myself down, but not touching the bloodied floor. I watched as his life left his eyes, leaving them dim and unfocused. It was time to leave my mark and return to the apartment.

"_**N**__o__**t**__ s__**o**__ f__**as**__t. __**I**__ t__**h**__i__**nk**__ y__**o**__u __**ca**__n __**d**__o __**be**__t__**t**__e__**r**__ t__**h**__a__**n**__ t__**his."**_

I looked up and saw Samael standing on the ceiling. He was always above me; always looking down on me. He stared right through me with azure eyes, a sadistic grin stretching impossibly wide. He ran a blue tongue across white pointed teeth. The bandages around his arms were unraveled completely, falling from the ceiling down into the blood.

"What do you want?" I asked. I was feeling annoyed.

"_**I**__t__**'s**__ n__**ot**__ w__**ha**__t __**I**__ w__**an**__t. __**It'**__s __**wh**__at __**y**__o__**u**__ w__**ant**__. __**Yo**__u __**w**__a__**nt**__ N__**oah**__, __**ri**__g__**ht**__? __**T**__h__**e**__n __**d**__o __**a**__ b__**e**__t__**te**__r __**jo**__b t__**han**__ t__**hi**__s __**h**__a__**lf**__-__**as**__se__**d shit."**_

I gritted my teeth, trying to suppress my frustration. "What the hell are you talking about? I killed Robert like you said. Now I slap a wall and leave."

"_**Ex**__ce__**p**__t t__**h**__at__**'s**__ n__**ot**__ e__**no**__u__**gh**__. __**No**__t t__**his**__ ti__**me**__, n__**ot**__ a__**t all**__. __**Kill**__in__**g**__ a __**h**__i__**g**__h __**pr**__o__**fil**__e __**ta**__rg__**e**__t j__**ust**__ l__**ik**__e __**yo**__u wo__**uld**__ a __**n**__o__**rm**__a__**l**__ o__**ne**__ w__**on**__'__**t**__ c__**ut**__ i__**t**__ th__**is**__ t__**im**__e. __**Y**__o__**u**__ n__**e**__e__**d**__ t__**o**__ g__**o**__ t__**he**__ e__**xt**__ra __**mi**__l__**e**__. Y__**ou**__ ne__**ed**__ t__**o**__ m__**ak**__e __**hi**__m __**a**__n __**exa**__m__**p**__l__**e**__.__**"**_

I looked at the fresh corpse and blew out a sigh. "What do I need to do?"

A horrible smile split across Samael's face. _**"J**__u__**st**__ g__**o**__ w__**ild**__.__**"**_

* * *

End Chapter Twenty-Seven: Blackest Flight

Doesn't look like Michael's going to make this pleasant for Jessica. Merry Christmas you adorable little psychos.


	28. Writing on the Walls

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: Everything is on the rise. The bodies are piling up. The pressure is building up. All eyes are on the police. Can they possibly prevent another disaster from occurring when they don't even know the nature of their enemy?

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twenty-Eight: Writing on the Walls_

[Day Four (4) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 8:24AM]

Jessica stood outside Number 4585, Maple Avenue. She was wearing a heavy trench coat to shield herself from the frigid winds. An icy coil of air slid across her red cheeks and through her red hair. There were numerous police-cars parked around the neighborhood. There were even more policemen spread out, going door to door for information. At least the neighbors here could speak English.

The smell of cocoa wafted into her nose. Glancing down, Jessica spied a cup of the brown liquid being held beneath her chin. She followed the gloved hand holding the expecting cocoa to Richard Herman. She clumsily groped at the cup with her numbed fingers until a drop of the hot cocoa splashed over the Styrofoam cup. Jessica winced and grabbed the cup properly, gently blowing on her stinging finger.

"Sorry!" Richard exclaimed. "You just looked cold, so…"

She flashed him a reassuring smile. "No problem, it wouldn't have happened if I had brought gloves. Thanks for the cocoa too."

"Yeah, a neighbor made it and has been handing it out to us."

Gee, it makes one wish murders happened more often in neighborhoods like this. Jessica kept that thought to her own self. Jared hadn't arrived yet and so they were waiting. It was also an excuse not to go in there. From what they've heard, this scene was right up there with the first one. The first forensics team to go in there came out green in the gills. Suddenly Jessica felt like sharing.

"You know, I used to have a crush on Robert Walker." Jessica divulged. Herman looked completely amazed. Jessica quickly back paddled on herself, "I mean back when I was a teen, before he got so big of course."

Herman spoke, "Walker was really big stuff in his prime. Funny, charming, witty, he was the most popular newscaster in the state. I remember there was this one time when his teleprompter got screwed up so Walker had to improvise the whole thing. He really went off the rails, but it was so funny that ratings improved. Then there was that time…"

Jessica cut Herman's rambling off with a glance before sipping on the cocoa. It nearly burned her tongue. When would people learn she couldn't handle piping hot drinks? She didn't want Herman to feel bad so as soon as Herman looked the other way, she dumped the whole thing in the grass beside her. When he turned back around, Jessica was convincingly sipping on an empty cup.

Apparently searching for conversation, Herman suddenly piped up. "How long are we going to be waiting for Ishtar?"

"I'm going to wait for him to arrive. You can go in if you want."

"I'm alright, waiting with you."

They stood in silence, shivering together whenever a wintry gust scythed through their bodies. A few minutes passed slowly until Jessica broke the silence.

"Look, if you're bored then you needn't keep me company."

Herman said, "I'm not bored, I like it here…" The wind snatched away the last whispered words. Herman was being too kind. Jessica tipped her empty cup to her lips again, running her tongue around the inside to get another taste of cocoa.

At that moment Jared's car pulled up. The Egyptian-American stepped out of his car, flashing a badge at no one in particular. Jared was completely decked out in every piece of anti-winter clothing possible. He had a heavy coat, ski pants, big boots, a pink scarf, thick gloves, and a wooly hat underneath the coat's hood.

"Are you seriously wearing a pink scarf?" Herman chortled. Jared stabbed a threatening finger at Herman and made a few muffled noises. This only served to amuse Herman even further. Finally Jared pulled the scarf off and stuffed it into a deep coat pocket.

"I c-couldn't find my flannel scarf so I had-d to borrow the wife's one." Jared said through chattering teeth. "Jesse, why are you chew-wing on an empty cup?" Jessica dropped the empty cup onto the grass and said nothing. "Anyway, would you f-fill me in on the details?"

Jessica obliged, "Robert Walker is the deceased. He was supposed to do an early morning news event but he never showed or answered any calls. At about 8 o'clock Mr. Bernard Steed drove over to Walker's home himself." Jessica pointed toward one of the police cars. Inside was Mr. Steed, a rather portly man with a bad comb-over.

"What a bad comb-over." Jared remarked.

"Isn't it?" Herman remarked.

"His bad comb-over is not the point here." Jessica said. "He was the one who made first contact with the deceased. Mr. Steed immediately called 9-1-1 and we arrived half an hour later. Herman and I have been waiting for you."

Jared raised an eyebrow "Why is Herman waiting? Shouldn't you be at the crime scene with your forensic flunkies?"

"Let's just go in." Herman said. He led Jessica and Jared over to the forensic lab. "Just like the first crime scene, we're going to need to wear full anti-contamination suits. Which means you," Herman pointed at Jared, "need to take off your coat and everything."

Jared was not pleased, but didn't complain. He quickly freed himself from the winter-wear and began to stuff his legs into the protective gear. Jessica slipped out of her trench-coat and also donned the equipment. When all three of them were all suited up, they entered the house.

Just like the first time, the first thing that hit Jessica was the smell. It was the smell of blood and loose bowels. There was no dignity in death. When you die, you shit your pants just like everyone else. The house was heated, so that accelerated the rate of decomposition. Unlike the first time, the entire house wasn't drenched in blood. There was some blood on the floor, but there were only drops. The drops led leftward from the front door to an adjacent room.

Here was where the bloodbath lied. In the middle of the large room was an unrecognizable pile of bloody body parts and rags. It really couldn't be described as humanlike at all. There were red bones sticking out at odd angles, but otherwise it didn't resemble Robert Walker. It looked as though his entire body had been hacked to pieces and then thrown into a pile. The carpet was completely drenched in blood to all four corners.

"Go-good god…" Jared gagged. This was his first time seeing this kind of crime scene. Jessica was having a hard time keeping her breakfast down. There were a few forensics members taking pictures of the site at numerous different angles. They were snipping blood-drenched carpet hairs off the floor and putting them into small test tubes.

"Look at the wall." Herman muttered. Jessica tore her gaze away from the great big pile of Walker on the floor and saw it. Her mouth dropped open and the urge to vomit nearly overpowered her. Jared leaned over and put his hands on his knees, breathing slowly.

WE ARE

It was written in red blood across the entire opposite wall. The two words alone took up that entire wall, with the tops of the letters nearly reaching the ceiling and the bottom just above the floor. It was obviously hand-painted with every stroke ending in a bloody handprint. None of the handprints were embedded in the wall though. Oddly enough, the far left slash (\) of the W was vertical and had two dashes (-) on the top and the bottom. It looked as though it were a capitalized "I" before the writer decided to change it to a W. 'WE ARE' what?

Then Jessica turned around. The final word was right behind her. She had walked past it when entering the room. It was bisected with three letters on the left of the doorway and three more on the right.

SAM AEL!

The exclamation point was just one great big vertical blood splatter with a handprint punched in the wall acting as the period. There was a forensics guy kneeling in front of the handprint, snapping pictures with a camera. She could see his face through his headpiece visor. He didn't appear bothered by the blood he was kneeling in or the pile of human body parts. For some reason, Jessica couldn't help but feel a strange gut feeling toward him. There was something about him that made her feel apprehensive. Was it because he was the only one who appeared –but that wasn't right—to be enjoying himself?

"We are… Samael." Jared said between deep breaths. He looked completely green in the gills.

"Jared, you aren't looking good. Why don't you go back outside and talk to Mr. Steed."

"Samael…" Jared continued. "I know that word."

"What is it?"

"It's the name of the Grim Reaper. Samael is the Angel of Death."

The house was still heated. So why did Jessica feel such a cold chill running down her spine?

* * *

End Chapter Twenty-Eight: Writing on the Walls

It's a short one but a good one. What we see here is the result of an off-kilter mind listening to the voices inside his head. Michael's road to vengeance is built on the gravestones of the innocent. I have a lot more story left to tell. One chapter a month just isn't going to cut it.

Let's kick this into overdrive…


	29. Raven Takes Flight

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: To a sociopath, everyone around him is nothing but a pawn. He feels no regret, apologizes to no one, and discards someone the moment they are no longer useful. Manipulation is his greatest weapon and obscurity is his shield. Anyone who won't bend to his whims is an enemy. A sociopath has no need for friends.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Twenty-Nine: Raven Takes Flight_

[Day Four (4) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 10:34PM]

There were few times in Noah's life that he could ever remember questioning himself. He's never had a problem justifying his actions as being for the greater good. It didn't matter if that "greater good" was only beneficial to him most of the time. As long as the end justified the means, Noah slept peacefully in his king-sized bed.

So why has sleep evaded Noah for so long?

The entirety of Noah's day has been spent on micromanaging the pieces of his plan. Noah has been supervising training of his new diclonius hunting squad to overseeing the AV equipment assembly to visiting his ace in the hole. From dusk 'til dawn, a never ceasing onslaught of projects that need approval and directing fell on his lap. Noah was completely immersed in his element. At the end of the day Noah received an automated message that was part of his NEWSSNIFFER program. There was new information to be seen by human eyes.

The day weighed heavily on Noah's shoulders. He stepped into his office and breathed in relief. His entire body ached, especially his feet. It was a good ache, a satisfying throbbing that you felt at the end of a long day of work. Noah hobbled to his office desk and deposited his sore body into the chair. His feet felt like they were stabbed with nails. He may have worn a hole in his socks today. There was just one last thing to tend to before taking a flight back home and spending another night staring at the ceiling. Noah was going to have to figure out why he wasn't sleeping.

Noah pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes at the same time. The computer's screen glowed painfully bright until his eyes adjusted to it. He leaned back in his office seat and waited for NEWSSNIFFER to filter out the needless junk. Eventually the program regurgitated a number of leaked photographs related to the Overkillers case. However, almost all of the pictures were ones Noah has seen before, just re-uploaded.

Feeling a twinge of frustration, Noah briskly scoured the pictures. This wouldn't even be necessary if the police weren't being so tight-lipped. After a few minutes, he finally found the ones from the most recent murder of Robert Walker. What he found took his breath away.

The sheer amount of blood and gore put this scene in a close second to the first one. The human body has about five and a half liters of blood inside it. It looked as though Subject D-1 had carved up the victim, Robert Walker, as to extract every last drop that he could. What was worse was the message written on the walls.

WE ARE SAMAEL!

This was something that Noah had never anticipated. This wasn't just a defiant message. This was a complete refusal of identity. Taken at face value, this would seem as though Subject D-1 was merely saying "I'm not the Overkillers, I am Samael." But digging deeper, reading between the lines, Subject D-1 seems to have abandoned his Michael Mordare persona. He is no longer identifying himself as Michael Mordare. The psyche profile Noah has created over the past sixteen years has been invalidated.

This sort of thing was a coping method. Subject D-1's train of thought may have been "If Michael Mordare can't handle this situation; then I won't be Michael Mordare anymore." And so Subject D-1 reinvented himself as someone who identifies himself as Samael. The fact that he chose the name of the Grim Reaper was also very telling. The Angel of Death wouldn't be shaken by all of the traumatizing events after all.

Then Noah thought, what about the "WE ARE" part of the message? Looking closely, it became apparent that Subject D-1 had started writing the capital letter 'I' as in a singular expression of self. Why did he change it to 'WE' then? Perhaps he was exploiting the investigation's assumption that there were two killers. It would indeed be a clever misdirection, or a continuation of an unintended misdirection. But for some reason Noah couldn't accept that theory as the only reason. It was something about the sheer amount of carnage that tipped Noah off. The amount of effort that would have gone into this message was far too much just for misdirection.

What if Subject D-1 was actually identifying himself as two people? What if there were more? What if Subject D-1 had simply broken and was now suffering from multiple personality disorder? It was possible, but there were so many other possibilities. Until Noah could bring in Subject D-1 once and for all, this was all conjecture. The only thing that Noah could get out of all this was that Subject D-1 had lost his sanity. This wasn't the actions of a lucid mind; it was pure and complete insanity.

The plan was not happening the way Noah envisioned it. According to every psyche evaluation, Subject D-1 was a coward and a weakling. He was externally introverted and internally extroverted. He wanted to be loud and surrounded with friends but because of his mutation the role of a shy and quiet kid was forced upon him. He was on the outside of every social circle, looking in and wishing that he could enter. Plus all of his past traumas turned him into a social porcupine. He wanted to get close to people, but all of his problems, his quills, made him afraid of hurting someone else. It was the classic Hedgehog's Dilemma. The Subject was a runner, not a fighter. He ran from all of his problems instead of facing them. The last time he confronted his problems he put his mother in the hospital. Events like that reinforce traumas.

This made him perfect for Noah's plans, his social problems made sure he wouldn't turn to anyone for help. Subject D-1 would instead go into hiding all alone, more of a threat of a threat than anything else. And there he would wait while Noah exploited him for every iota of power available. Even tracking Subject D-1 after he went into hiding would have been no problem. Anti-diclonius technology has advanced to the point where agents could use severed diclonii brains wired to satellites to track every diclonius down to the street number. This was of course only after said diclonius reached her trigger point. The satellites couldn't track the infection itself, only the emerging diclonius. There was only one of those satellites in orbit right now and it was only recently that Noah received authorization to have it repositioned over the United States instead of Japan.

Everything had been planned sixteen years ago and all Subject D-1 had to do was survive the hit and run away. Part one of that had gone smoothly, the only threat was of suicide. But instead of running away, the Subject instead defied over a decade of habitual running and began to fight back. Instead of a threat of a threat, Subject D-1 had graduated to a genuine threat to all of mankind. Worse yet, the Subject has begun to kill civilians indiscriminately while remaining perfectly clear on the map. The trauma of losing his family hadn't weakened him further, it had made him stronger.

The act of repositioning that diclonii tracking satellite was merely to show Noah's superiors that he was actually trying to catch Subject D-1. Noah didn't have any intention of using it at this stage. Besides, Noah already knew where the Subject was. The goddamn diclonius wasn't even moving! The Director was starting to put the pressure on Noah to send in a squadron of AD soldiers to bring the Subject in. Noah was only able to alleviate the Director's pressuring by revealing a small portion of his plans. It wasn't anything involving the Subject S-148, thankfully. That card was something Noah intended to hold close to his chest.

"_What if this is all part of the Subject's plan?"_ Noah thought. At first Noah dismissed this notion, the Subject's evaluations never revealed a master planner lurking in his psyche. Michael Mordare wasn't capable of masterminding this sort of plot._ "But what about Samael?"_ the voice nagged. This new psyche could be so capable. For the first time in a very long time, Noah questioned himself.

Suddenly the need to act overcame Noah. He needed to do something to combat this spanner in the works. He needed a variable of his own, some random pawn in some random spot that could possibly pay off. It shouldn't be someone very competent, clearly. It should just be someone who owed Noah a favor and could remain in standby for an undetermined amount of time. And Noah knew just the right person.

Noah had two phones on his office desk. Since this location was so far underground, it was impossible for cellular phones to work. Therefore he had an office phone that lets him call anyone in the whole laboratory. The other phone was one specifically designed to be completely untraceable. He could spend an entire hour on it and nobody would have a clue where he was. Caller ID would register the phone as RESTRICTED. Noah reached for his office phone and picked it up. His secretary, Stephanie Ann, picked up the other line a second later. Noah spoke "Call this man: Nathan Raven in the FBI. Tell him that I want to speak to him and use my real name. Patch him through my untraceable phone once you've got him on the line and waiting."

Then Noah hung up and waited patiently. Two minutes passed before the little red light on the untraceable phone lit up. Noah picked it up off its cradle and held it to his ear. A smooth voice spoke nervously "He-hello?"

"Good evening Mr. Raven." Noah replied in a voice much calmer than he felt.

"Mr. Brimstrome, what a pleasure…"

"Alright, let's cut the bullshit. You owe me and you know why. Now it's time to return that favor and that cushy office job of yours will be finally had been earned."

There was silence for a second until Raven spoke up "What do you want me to do?"

"Do you know of the situation in Toledo, Ohio?"

"Which one, the local economy or the Overkillers, excuse me, Samael killers?"

"I mean the murders. I'll let you in on a secret; it isn't two humans on a killing spree. It's one diclonius."

Nathan Raven was one of the VERY FEW people outside of the organization that knew of the existence of diclonius. His reply was enough to tell Noah he understood.

"Oh shit, oh shit oh shit! Doesn't that mean the end of humankind?"

"Not if we capture him first."

"Wait, it's a guy? I thought all diclonius were girls?"

"The details aren't important. In fact, the less you know the better. I want you to fly down there and—"

"You aren't going to have to join the diclonius hunting squads, are you?"

Noah felt a cluster headache building. By now Nathan sounded panicked. His voice had gone high enough to trigger the headache. As soon as this conversation ended Noah was going to need his "medication".

"You will do whatever I say to do otherwise you and your entire family will be out naked and penniless on the streets within ten fucking minutes!" Noah raged suddenly. This was exaggeration of course. Such a task would take an hour at least.

There was more silence on the other side before a defeated voice drifted into Noah's ear. "Alright, I'll do what you tell me."

"Good. Fortunately for you, I'm not assigning you to the front lines. I want you to join the team of investigators that are covering this case."

"You mean you want me to be a detective?"

"Not quite, you will merely be a consultant from the FBI to help them in any way you can."

"So… am I really helping them?"

"No. What you're really going to do is make sure they don't interfere with my plans. Lead them away from the truth in any way you can."

"I don't get it, how could they get in the way of your plans? They all think the murderers are a couple humans. They shouldn't even have an idea of what a diclonius is."

"And you make sure that it stays that way. Keep reporting to me whatever they learn. Encourage their current theories and offer them advice wherever you can."

"So… I'm supposed to lead the blind away from the light?"

"That's the gist of it. I never said this would be a difficult assignment."

"And after this, we'll be square again? I won't hear from you again?"

"Your flight will be paid for as well as any hotel fees you acquire. This is pretty much a fuck-up proof assignment. Just make sure they don't catch Samael and report to this number every night at 10 o' clock." Then Noah rattled off one of his cell phone numbers before hanging up. Thirty seconds later and he received a text message that read "is this right #?" to which Noah replied "yes."

With the day finally behind him, Noah stepped out of his office and into his private elevator. He would take his personal jet back to his Florida mansion and spend another night staring at the ceiling. Even if he couldn't sleep he could at least rest his body. Noah briefly considered apologizing to Raven for his outburst before shooting it down. For one thing, Noah wasn't even apologetic. The only reason the thought even entered his head was because a cross person could act unpredictably. But Raven knew the risks so he wouldn't dare cross Noah. Besides, you don't get to Noah's position by saying sorry.

It took Noah ten minutes to realize that he had spoke of Subject D-1 as Samael.

* * *

End Chapter Twenty-Nine: Raven Takes Flight

I am so proud of that title that I can't even keep a straight face. Hell, the name for Nathan Raven wasn't even my idea. I just asked someone I know for a good last name and he said Raven. After that I stole his first name and thus the character became Nathan Raven.

We finally have Noah proactively tampering with the investigation. Will Jessica Hawker discover Nathan Raven's true colors? Could this lead her back to Noah himself? The story has become more complicated than I ever anticipated. This tome has reached its halfway point. Stay aboard and find out the unpredictable conclusion.


	30. Identity Crisis

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: Imagine yourself watching a movie about your life on a gigantic (football field-sized) theater screen. You laugh, you cry, you cheer, and when the movie ends you give yourself a standing applause. But nobody else in the audience is clapping; because you aren't the hero of the story. You're the villain.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Thirty: Identity Crisis_

I was the king of the tropical kingdom of Screw Mondays I'm Still Asleep. It was still very warm underneath my bed sheets and no force in this 'verse was going to remove me from them. As I thought this, as if accepting the challenge, the noisiest device ever crafted activated: my alarm clock.

_**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!**_

I countered the audio assault by turning over on my stomach and pressing my pillow around my head. The alarm was still capable of being heard but now it had become a battle of attrition. Which would break first, my will or the alarm? As it turned out, the answer was neither. The bedroom door burst open and a lightweight figure powered his way toward the screeching device. He slapped a hand down on the snooze button, ending the epic duel with silence. Then he turned toward me and grabbed a fistful of covers. I made a clumsy grab for the covers too, but it was too late. With a mighty heave, the tropical kingdom was doused in winter.

The cruel figure above me spoke with a harsh voice. "This is the third time you've turned off your alarm! Get up and get ready!"

I curled myself up in a ball in a vain attempt to hold onto what remained of my body heat. "Watch what you're doing Dad!" I exclaimed. "I could've been commando underneath here!"

My father dumped the covers outside my reach. "Don't worry about my safety. I'm all ready to gouge out my eyes with my fingernails. It's time you got up and got ready for school."

My kingdom thoroughly demolished, I resigned myself to preparing for the second most diabolical human creation: public school. Fortunately for my father, I had worn a sweater and sweatpants underneath my covers instead of my birthday suit. My bony body only looked bonier underneath all of the loose clothing. Tony Mordare walked away from the bed and toward the window. He grabbed the drapes and flung them open. Harsh sunlight flooded the room and pierced my eyeballs like a rusty dagger. I groaned as loudly as I could before swinging my legs over the edge of my bed. As soon as my feet touched the freezing floor I became wide awake. I've always been a heavy sleeper; it took quite a bit to get me started.

I blinked the sleep out of my blood-red eyes and forced myself to a standing position. Dad turned back to me and said "Your mother is downstairs making eggs. How do you want your eggs?"

"Nonexistent?" I suggested with the biggest Bambi eyes I could muster. As it turns out, blood-red eyes have the opposite effect of beautiful blue eyes.

"L-O-L no," Dad quipped, "should've tried that when you had your contacts in."

"I hate eggs!" I complained.

"You could use the protein." Dad squeezed the undersized muscles in my right arm. I yanked my arm away from his hand.

"Oh yeah, and you're the expert on muscles." I retorted. I grabbed his left arm with my right hand, nearly making a half circle with my middle finger and thumb.

Dad spoke with a fake Irish accent. "Boyo, when I was but a lad your age I was already chopping down redwood trees while wielding two axes!"

I rolled my eyes and shooed Dad out the door. Then I walked to my dresser while making sure to step from one floored article of clothing to another. That floor was cold! Damn Jack Frost! I quickly changed into the green top with black pants uniform for DeVilbiss. Then I took a look at myself in my mirror that was propped against the wall. With red hair, red eyes, and a green shirt, I was giving out a vaguely Christmas-y feeling. I cupped my hands over my horns and looked again. Without the horns, I could easily pass as a very red-headed normal teenager. Mom said that the doctors said that the horns were inoperable. The horns had veins and nerves that connected directly to my brain. That really sucked.

I found my chestnut brown wig and almost donned it. Then I decided that I didn't feel like wearing it right now and left it on my dresser. Sometimes Mom didn't like it when I wasn't wearing the wig. Frankly, I didn't care. It was early morning and neighbors weren't going to walk out in the cold just to catch a glimpse of the mysterious demon child of The Point. Even if they did, screw them.

I walked downstairs feeling unnecessarily defiant. I heard the pop and sizzle of bacon and eggs before I smelled it. I usually sandwiched my eggs between two slices of buttered toast with bacon. Bacon made eggs edible, if just barely. I walked in the kitchen and found my mother standing in front of the stove, trying to flip too many eggs as usual. She was wearing sweatpants that were stretched tight over the swell of her pregnant belly.

"Whoops!" Mom said. "Who wanted scrambled eggs? Wait, make those two scrambled eggs."

"I don't!" I declared.

Mom turned around, her long chestnut hair swinging behind her, and immediately her smile became forced. It only lasted a second before the smile returned to genuine, but it was enough. No matter how hard she tries to hide it, I know she will never be accustomed to my horns. I felt my heart sink into a cold and yet hot place. Why did she still act as though the horns have come from a devil?

Mom seemed to sense that my attitude was souring. She walked over to me and put her slender hands on my shoulders. Her left sleeve was rolled back to her bicep. A long scar ran diagonally from her wrist to her elbow. Her blue eyes locked my mine red.

"Michael, I know you're having bad thoughts. What's the matter?"

Our family therapist, Ken Freeman, kept on insisting that we be open with our feelings. It was hard and often humiliating, but my mother never stopped digging until she found out what was wrong. She would hold you by the shoulders and wouldn't let go until you were out with it. It was always easier to stew with your anger, to let it fester under your skin, instead of just talking about it. Nonetheless, a breakdown of communicating leads to a breakdown of everything. And since this was one of those rare times where I was in the right, I let her have it.

"You did it again." Mom's hands fell to her sides and her gaze was downcast. "You flinched when you looked at me. It makes me feel like I'm a horrible scar victim."

Mom looked so small right then, fragile like a porcelain doll. When she finally looked up, her face looked as gaunt and haunted as it was back in my blackened childhood. "I'm sorry Michael. I don't mean to do it. It's something a mother should never do. But I love you as you really are, believe me." Mom reached up and brushed my red hair gently. "I love your red hair, even though nobody on either side of our family has such a shade of red."

I felt her fingers snag on something in my hair. Mom held my head with both hands and made me look at the floor so she could take a look. I couldn't see anything, but I could feel her fingers grab something off the top of my head. With a sudden sharp stab of pain Mom yanked the item out of my hair. I yelped and pulled back, rubbing my crown with my hands. Nestled within a nest of red hair was a burr. It was just sitting in the palm of her hand. I could feel the blood flush out of my body, instantly replaced with liquid nitrogen.

Mom just stared at the burr with a confused face. I could see the gears turning in her head. Her confused expression turned to one of pure horror. I stepped away, in an attempt to get away before—

"Michael Samuel Mordare!" Mom cried out, freezing me in my tracks. I wanted to run away so badly. Mom's eyes were wet with tears when she thrust the offending burr in my face. "How did this get in your hair? Explain to me how this could have gotten in your hair unless you were walking around without your wig!"

Sudden anger heated my blood to the boiling point. I could feel my face coloring as I confronted her. "I walked outside without my wig. It was late at night when you and Dad were in bed. Nobody saw me so it doesn't matter."

"How often do you do this?"

"I don't do it a lot, just when I can't sleep. My stomach was bothering me so I took a walk!"

"You couldn't have just walked around the house!"

"Nobody saw me!"

"But what if someone did? We may have to move—!"

"So what if they see? I'm not going to move just because someone sees my horns! It's not like they'd recognize me anyway. I don't know any of our neighbors and they wouldn't know me either. I'm always cooped up in here…"

That's when Dad entered in the room. He was wearing his nurse uniform already. "What's this I hear about us having to move?" he said in a strange voice. Mom turned to Dad and showed him the burr with my hair in it.

"Michael went outside without his wig."

Dad immediately looked world weary. He gave me a tired look and sighed deeply. "Mike, I know how you feel. But you can't go walking around with your head naked. It's for your own safety."

"It was late at night. It was too dark to see anything. Nobody saw me." I crossed my arms in front my chest in defiance. The urge to run was rising.

"Nobody saw you? Then let's put this aside and eat breakfast." Dad said. Mom looked like she wanted to pursue the topic, but Dad had spoken with authority. During the argument the eggs and bacon had burned. There was no toast either. I forced each egg down with a strong gulp of milk. It was a very quiet breakfast with the clink and clank of utensils replacing conversation. Instead of thinking about Mom, I focused on my main task. It was a presentation we had to do in science class about our chosen topics. I had chosen birth mutations as my topic. I had gotten it almost all researched, the only task remaining was converting it into PowerPoint.

As soon as I was done eating I grabbed my book-bag and left. I would make up for the lousy morning somehow, probably by cooking Mom something. Maybe some Mexican or Italian food would compensate for the whole mess. I know we have some pasta, so Italian seems like the best solution.

If only I knew that tomorrow was the day I died.

* * *

My blood red eyes snapped open but still everything was black. I could feel my eyeballs moving in their sockets but the Darkness didn't disperse. Without sight, I became acutely aware of everything possible. I was lying on my back in my own apartment. My entire body felt stiff and sore. There was a spring jabbing into my lower back. The area where glass was embedded in my head itched. My feet felt as though I were standing on hot coals, as if I had been walking for hours. My back felt wet and sticky with perspiration. Finally, I could smell blood in the air. It was pretty strong, I could almost taste it.

I twisted my misshapen head and felt my hair rub into the pillow. There was a small sliver of yellow light that bisected the apartment. As I watched, I saw a sallow figure step into the light. The figure stopped and the light was cast over one eye. Despite the sheer Darkness that filled the room, I could _feel_ his sadistic smile as it spread across his face. Samael stood in the middle of the room like a silent sentry.

"It's time for me to kill someone, isn't it?" I stated dully. Without waiting for an answer I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and sat up. I could feel the sweat-soaked cover peel off my back. All of the sudden I felt my toes slam into something hard, cold, and heavy. I heard something metallic roll across the floor. I slapped my slender hand over my mouth to stop my cry of pain front coming out. After a second I managed to lower my voice to a low hiss and bent over to massage my toes. The object had rolled to a stop in the yellow strip of light. There was a spark as the light reflected off a metal corner. Finally I had enough and reached for the string that would turn on the singular lightbulb in the apartment. With a sharp tug I managed to turn on the bulb without snapping the string.

Harsh light filled the room and my eyes took their time adjusting. Blinking madly, I forced them to focus on the object that I had stubbed my toes against. For a second the long shape was completely alien to me. Then I immediately recognized it for what it was.

A simple long-sword sat in its sheath in the middle of the apartment.

My mouth became as dry as a desert. Toe forgotten, sore feet forgotten, I stood up and walked over to the sword. It would have been easier to pick it up with a vector, but I had the strangest notion that it would disappear unless touched with flesh hands. My fingers wrapped around the cold sheath and I lifted the sword off the ground. It was surprisingly heavy. My eyes rose to my pale doppelganger. To my surprise, Samael was now naked from the waist up. The bandages around his chest had disappeared. I ignored this and asked the burning question.

"Where the fuck did this come from?"

Samael didn't answer the second question but the first one. _**"Y**__o__**u**__ d__**on**__'__**t**__ n__**eed**__ t__**o**__ k__**il**__l __**ton**__ig__**ht**__.__**"**_

My eyes narrowed to slits and I glared at him with all my might. "What do you mean by that?"

My madness answered my second question instead of the third. _**"I**__ g__**ot**__ t__**h**__a__**t**__ sw__**ord**__ o__**ff**__ t__**h**__e __**gu**__y I __**k**__i__**ll**__e__**d**__.__**"**_

I felt sick to my stomach. This couldn't be happening. Everything was going wrong. "How—when did you kill someone?"

The pattern continued. _**"**__I __**me**__an __**I**__ t__**o**__o__**k**__ c__**ar**__e __**of t**__h__**e**__ k__**il**__li__**ng**__ t__**o**__n__**igh**__t.__**"**_

"How can you kill someone?" I already knew the answer, but I didn't want to accept it.

"_**I**__ k__**ill**__ed __**a**__ m__**an**__ a__**ft**__er __**s**__u__**n**__d__**own**__, __**w**__h__**e**__n __**yo**__u f__**el**__l __**a**__sl__**e**__e__**p**__. __**Y**__o__**u**__ w__**e**__r__**en**__'t __**go**__i__**ng**__ t__**o**__ w__**ake**__ u__**p**__ a__**nd**__ I __**de**__cid__**e**__d __**t**__o t__**ak**__e __**i**__t __**up**__o__**n**__ m__**y**__s__**elf**__.__**"**_

"Why would you do this?" I was starting to sound hysterical, I couldn't help it.

"_**I**__ t__**o**__o__**k**__ o__**ve**__r __**y**__o__**ur**__ b__**o**__d__**y**__, __**fl**__ew t__**o so**__m__**e**__w__**he**__re __**I**__ fe__**lt**__ li__**ke**__ ki__**llin**__g, __**an**__d __**k**__il__**le**__d __**w**__h__**o**__e__**v**__e__**r**__ I __**fo**__u__**n**__d __**ther**__e.__**"**_

"You can't do this to me! You can't take over my body without my permission!" I screamed.

"_Y__**ou**__ w__**ere**__ b__**ei**__n__**g**__ s__**uch**__ a __**go**__od __**s**__p__**or**__t __**abo**__ut __**th**__e w__**hol**__e __**ma**__s__**s**__ac__**re**__ de__**al**__. I __**th**__ou__**ght**__ I __**wo**__u__**l**__d __**gi**__ve y__**ou**__ a b__**r**__e__**ak**__. __**T**__h__**a**__t __**s**__wo__**rd**__ i__**s**__ a __**r**__e__**war**__d f__**or**__ k__**il**__l__**in**__g th__**at**__ f__**at ol**__d g__**uy**__. __**Yo**__u __**c**__an t__**ha**__n__**k**__ m__**e**__ l__**ate**__r.__**"**_

"Shut up, just shut up! I need to think, need to think!" I ground the heel of my palms into my temples. My nails dug into my scalp. I had to pace, I had to think this through.

"_**W**__h__**at**__ di__**d**__ y__**o**__u __**sa**__y? Y__**ou**__r __**b**__o__**d**__y, __**I c**__an__**'t**__ t__**ak**__e __**o**__ve__**r**__ y__**o**__u__**r bod**__y__**? Wh**__o__**ev**__er __**sa**__id __**i**__t __**wa**__s yo__**ur**__ bo__**d**__y __**to**__ be__**gin**__ w__**it**__h__**?"**_

I whirled around and slapped my hand against my chest. "Yes! This is my body! It's not your body, it's mine and you can't have it! I'm the original, I am Michael!"

Finally he began to respond to me in proper order. _**"**__W__**hat**__ ev__**ide**__nc__**e**__ d__**o**__ y__**ou h**__a__**v**__e th__**at**__ y__**ou'**__re __**M**__i__**ch**__ae__**l**__ M__**or**__d__**are**__? __**Y**__o__**u ca**__ll __**y**__o__**urse**__lf __**M**__i__**ch**__a__**e**__l, b__**ut**__ wh__**at**__ i__**f I**__ ca__**lle**__d m__**yse**__lf M__**i**__c__**h**__a__**el**__ M__**o**__r__**dare**__. __**Wh**__at __**ma**__k__**e**__s y__**ou**__ m__**ore**__ o__**r**__ig__**in**__a__**l**__ t__**ha**__n __**me?"**_

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What are you talking about? I—I have my memories! I know everything I went though. You can't confuse me—"

"_I__**s**__ y__**ou**__r __**e**__vi__**den**__ce m__**emo**__r__**ie**__s__**? I**__ h__**av**__e __**m**__y __**mem**__or__**ie**__s __**too**__. __**I**__ k__**n**__o__**w**__ e__**ve**__r__**y**__th__**ing**__ I __**we**__nt __**thou**__gh __**t**__o__**o**__. __**In**__ fa__**ct**__, __**I**__ t__**h**__i__**nk**__ I __**h**__a__**ve**__ m__**o**__re __**of**__ M__**i**__c__**ha**__e__**l's**__ m__**e**__m__**ori**__e__**s**__ t__**ha**__n __**yo**__u __**do."**_

I squeezed my head even harder, I could hear my heart pounding in my misshapen skull.

"_**Te**__l__**l m**__e, __**d**__o __**yo**__u r__**e**__me__**mbe**__r m__**ai**__m__**in**__g __**m**__y __**mo**__th__**er**__? __**D**__o y__**ou**__ re__**mem**__be__**r**__ p__**ut**__ti__**n**__g __**he**__r __**in**__ t__**he**__ h__**o**__s__**pita**__l __**w**__h__**en**__ m__**y**__ v__**e**__c__**tor**__s __**fi**__r__**s**__t e__**mer**__ge__**d?**__ D__**o**__ y__**ou**__ r__**eme**__m__**ber**__ t__**h**__e 'th__**erap**__y' __**s**__es__**sio**__n __**th**__a__**t**__ f__**ol**__l__**owed**__?__**"**_

Suddenly images long since buried began to fill my head. The color of red splattered around like a can of paint overturned. My mother was in a white shirt crawling through the red away from me. I could hear painful screaming. I dug my nails in my head so hard that I could feel the skin breaking. I dropped to my knees and tried to scream, but only a strangled sound came out.

I could see a man with a camera sitting in a chair in front of me. There was a small bandaged boy sitting in the corner behind me, his face was completely wrapped up but one azure eye glared daggers into me. I remember being lead away from the room and looking back. There was a tall man with brown hair and broad shoulders watching me with a strange expression. He looked to be in his late twenties, but nonetheless he was obviously in charge with the cameraman pleading to him. I couldn't breathe, I needed air…

"_**Ho**__w a__**re**__ y__**o**__u __**any**__t__**h**__i__**ng**__ li__**ke M**__ic__**hae**__l __**M**__o__**rda**__re__**? Lo**__ok __**a**__t __**yo**__u__**rs**__e__**l**__f __**an**__d l__**o**__o__**k**__ a__**t**__ h__**im.**__ T__**he**__ d__**i**__s__**tan**__c__**e**__ b__**e**__t__**we**__e__**n**__ y__**ou**__ i__**s**__ w__**or**__l__**d**__s __**a**__**p**__ar__**t**__. __**Y**__o__**u**__ on__**ly**__ c__**a**__ll __**yo**__u__**rsel**__f M__**ic**__ha__**el Mo**__rd__**are**__, __**th**__a__**t'**__s __**all.**__**"**_

"You—you're lying, I am Michael, stop lying…" I exhaled. My lungs burned with need. I felt weak, like I could black out at any moment.

"_**Wh**__o'__**s**__ t__**o sa**__y y__**o**__u __**ar**__e __**Mic**__ha__**el**__? __**Y**__o__**u**__ w__**er**__e "__**bo**__r__**n**__" __**w**__h__**e**__n Mi__**ch**__a__**e**__l's d__**ad**__ w__**as sh**__ot __**i**__n t__**he**__ h__**e**__a__**d**__. __**Wa**__t__**ch**__i__**ng**__ h__**is**__ fat__**he**__r's __**death**__ s__**h**__a__**tte**__r__**e**__d M__**ic**__ha__**el's**__ f__**r**__a__**gil**__e __**m**__i__**n**__d. __**Yo**__u d__**ro**__p__**ped**__ i__**nt**__o __**my**__ t__**hea**__t__**e**__r r__**i**__g__**ht**__ a__**f**__t__**e**__r t__**hat**__, __**ju**__st __**i**__n __**tim**__e f__**or**__ t__**h**__e __**f**__**i**__n__**a**__**le**__. __**W**__h__**o**__ i__**s t**__o __**sa**__y t__**h**__a__**t**__ y__**ou**__'r__**e**__ t__**he**__ f__**i**__r__**st s**__p__**li**__t p__**er**__s__**ona**__lit__**y**__ Mic__**hael**__ h__**a**__s __**ha**__d__**?"**_

"Cease with it, I'm not a split personality I am him, I am him…" The world was fading into Darkness.

"_**W**__h__**at'**__s w__**r**__o__**ng**__, __**fo**__r__**g**__o__**tte**__n h__**ow**__ t__**o**__ b__**re**__at__**he?"**_ Samael slapped my back hard and air rushed into my depleted lungs. _**"**__I s__**ho**__ul__**d**__n'__**t**__ ne__**ed**__ t__**o t**__e__**ac**__h __**yo**__u h__**ow**__ to __**br**__ea__**t**__h__**e**__.__**"**_

"I said shut up!" I choked out between gulping breaths. "I am not a split personality! I am Michael Mordare. You can't take over that easily, I won't let you."

My madness narrowed his eyes in contempt. _**"**__Y__**ou**__ a__**re**__n'__**t**__ t__**hin**__k__**ing**__ o__**f**__ st__**op**__p__**i**__ng __**th**__e k__**il**__li__**ngs**__, __**a**__r__**e**__ y__**ou**__? __**T**__h__**at**__ w__**ou**__l__**d pu**__t __**e**__v__**er**__y__**t**__h__**ing**__ y__**ou**__'v__**e**__ wo__**rke**__d __**fo**__r __**at**__ r__**is**__k.__**"**_

"No, no, no. I won't stop killing people every night. As much as I hate you, I hate Noah even more. But the next time you try to take over, you won't find it so easy. I'm going to stay constantly vigilant. Even when I sleep I won't lower my guard. The next time I find myself dreaming about the past, I'll force myself awake."

"_**C**__ar__**efu**__l. Y__**ou**__ d__**o**__n__**'t**__ w__**an**__t __**t**__o __**p**__i__**c**__k __**fig**__h__**t**__s y__**ou**__'__**v**__e a__**l**__r__**ea**__dy __**l**__**o**__**st."**_

I knelt down and grabbed the sword by its handle. I lifted the sword up while removing its sheath with my other hand. The blade made a faint hissing sound as it slid free from its scabbard. Finally I thrust the point of the sword straight at Samael, its edge catching the light. "You taught me the importance of resolve. Now my resolve is twofold. One is to kill Noah. The other is to stop you from taking over again. I won't lose my resolve again, you can be sure of that."

The room was empty. I sheathed the blade and dropped it underneath my bed. My entire body remembered its aches and pains. Just how much walking did Samael do? I deposited my hurting body onto the bed. I was going to need to figure out who and where Samael struck. I didn't like not knowing if evidence was left behind. I still wanted the world to think that Michael Mordare is dead. But it wasn't like Samael was going to tell me anything now. If I was lucky, then it was just a sword collector who lived out in the middle of the suburbs. If I were unlucky, then he hit a store that sold swords and could have cameras.

I couldn't keep my eyes open much longer. There was no way I was going to accept the idea that I was a mere split personality. I am Michael Mordare, dead or alive. As my eyelids drew close a nagging thought occurred to me.

_How did Samael have a memory that I didn't?_

* * *

End Chapter Thirty: Identity Crisis

Samael is a liar that lies. Everything he has said from the very beginning could be a lie. But he always mixes in a seed of truth to plant doubt in Michael's mind. There is no telling where the lies end and the truth starts. His tongue is as pointed as any sword and his mind is sharper still. The tangled ropes of deceit he has woven may shape out to be a noose around Michael's neck.


	31. Sword and Spear

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: There is something unsettling about a person with no morals. The fact that he can do anything he wants without any emotional repercussions puts him on unfair grounds. If it weren't for the law, this person could be a complete monster, destroying lives with as little thought as crushing a fly. But what if you had a person without morals who was simply too powerful to be touched by the law?

Is this description exclusive to Samael, or are there people in real life that this applies to as well? That was just some food for thought.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Thirty-One: Sword and Spear_

[Day Five (5) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 5:53PM]

It has been five days since the Samael murders began. It felt longer to Jessica Hawker. It felt like months has passed in the blink of an eye. Perhaps it was the late hours she has been putting in. She hasn't had a proper night sleep since this whole mess began. Lucas has been supportive, but every night he sleeps alone while his fiancé spends her nights in the department, pouring over reports and paperwork. The strain of watching Jessica work herself to exhaustion was painful.

Since the Robert Walker murder, the entire department has been devoted to catching these killers. The mayor has gone on record saying that he will allow registered volunteers to carry firearms to patrol neighborhoods. The only thing that will catch these killers is manpower. The police force has been forced to put in unpaid overtime, resulting in higher tensions and sloppier patrols. So much has happened in the past twenty-four hours that it feels much longer.

Jessica took one hand off the wheel of her car and rubbed at her tired eyes. When she opened them, a pair of red lights rushed at her. A normal sleep-deprived person would have panicked and crashed into the stopped car. But for some reason, sleep deprivation had the opposite effect on Jessica. It focused her into a cold machine that reacted rationally. Instead of slamming on the breaks and sliding on the wet road, Jessica pumped the brakes as fast as she could so she wouldn't hydroplane. Her car halted mere inches away from the stopped car.

Only when the danger passed did Jessica allow herself to panic. Her passenger on the other hand, did not have this ability.

"Holy fucking Jesus Christ on a breadstick!" Jared screamed. He somehow managed to say this entire unusual curse in between the moment Jessica first noticed the stopped car and the moment she brought her car to a still.

"You know, I liked it better when you cursed in Egyptian."

"What are you doing Jesse? Did you not see that car parked in the highway?"

"I know you only knew that one curse word, but at least you sounded cooler somehow."

"Alright, I want to drive now. Get out and let me have the wheel."

"Can't now, the traffic is moving."

"I can walk faster than this, you can't drive anymore."

"My driving ability is not hindered in the slightest, it's just these roads. I can't believe it snowed so hard last night."

"Ohio has the most screwed up weather. It's like God said 'this is where random weather goes' and left us all to freeze in spring."

"Tomorrow is supposed to be high in the eighties, isn't it?"

"Are you going to give me the wheel or not? You can catch a few 'Z's' while we're stuck in this traffic jam."

"I work better without sleep. I'll be fine so quit asking."

* * *

[Day Five (5) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 7:15PM]

The rest of the car ride was silent and uneventful. It took nearly a lifetime, but Jessica finally squeezed past the cause of the traffic jam. It was a red Ford Taurus that had wiped out in the middle of the road and crashed into the back of a semi truck. The nose of the car had been crumpled up like a tin can and there were broken shards of windshield glass scattered everywhere. The entire passenger side had been ripped out by the Jaws of Life to extract the driver. The ambulance had already departed, but Jessica hadn't heard sirens.

Half an hour later Jessica turned into a road and immediately spotted her destination. It was the small building surrounded by police cars, yellow/black warning tape, and curious pedestrians. From what Jessica learned from the radio chatter, it was a specialty shop that sold medieval weapons. A couple hours ago, at approximately 5:30PM, the store assistant had arrived to help the store owner package some orders. That's when he found the store owner dead. There was a handprint punched into the wall next to the dead body.

The store owner was a Chinese-American named Jeff Wei-Fong. He was sixty-eight when he died, making him the oldest victim of the Samael killers. The assistant was a normal Caucasian teenager named Randy Blum. He was being served warm milk tea while police officers gently asked the horrified kid questions. His hands were visibly shaking.

Jessica pulled up to the police blockade and flashed her badge at the first officer who approached. A pair of officers lifted the yellow and black striped tape and let her car roll underneath. Jared and she exited her car and walked up to the building. Jessica spotted Richard Herman talking to some forensics and walked up to him from behind.

"…And make sure we get every hilt dusted for fingerprints and tagged. We don't need to double dust anything."

Before Jessica had a chance to speak, Jared interjected. "What's up He-man?"

Richard turned around, his expression already soured. "That's not even close to an accident. Oh and hello Jessica, you finally made it."

Jessica nodded her head and dove right into business. "How bad does it look in there? Was it Sword or Spear?" The department had begun to call the two different Samael killers by codenames. Sword was the codename for the butcher who left crazy messes all over the place. Spear was the codename for the efficient one who killed using minimal effort. There probably wasn't any real correlation as to which one used which weapon; they may trade weapons as far as the department knew. But since the efficient kills seem to have been made with a spear most of the time and the ruthless debauchery committed with a sword, the names have stuck for the time being.

"Oh it was Sword all right." Richard sighed. "There are lots and lots of swords to be more accurate."

"Oh come on!" Jared complained. "Sword seems to be killing more lately. When was the last time Spear had a chance?"

"We're guessing it was Spear who killed the Gomez family three days ago. But it was definitely Sword who slaughtered Robert Walker and Jeff Wei-Fong." Richard explained.

"Do you think there is a pattern as to who gets the kills?" Jessica began. "First it was the Freeman family. They apparently got double-teamed by both of our killers. Then it was—uh—Johnny Wilson and they were both present, although Spear was the one who got the kill." Jessica ticked off her fingers with every name. "Then it was the Gomez family and that was Spear's kill, with no evidence pointing toward Sword's presence. Finally we have Robert Walker and Jeff Wei-Fong who are both killed by Sword. Do you guys see a pattern?"

Richard's eyebrows quirked as he answered "I think it's too early to try and find a pattern. Besides, I don't think finding this pattern is going to help us catch these guys. There probably isn't even one. It's pretty obvious that Sword is just a psychotic freak while Spear is more methodical and deliberate."

Jessica shrugged "That may be the case, but don't go thinking that one is better than the other. They're both psychotic freaks. One is just better at hiding it."

"Okay, are we ready to get inside or are we waiting for my nuts to freeze off?" Jared exclaimed.

The trio of investigators entered the store. The store was a large room with four rows of waist-high glass displays featuring a large variety of swords, daggers, maces, war axes, and other collectible weapons. There was even more weapons hung up on the four walls, mostly larger than the ones in the glass displays. There were great swords, battle axes, spears, and shields on the walls. The store appeared to have weapons from numerous different regions, such as Japanese _katana_, Middle Eastern scimitars, European longswords, and more. Jared was immediately attracted to the decorative scimitars, leaning down to examine an ornate curved blade with a dragon carved into it. Jessica harrumphed and Jared quickly returned to her side.

"Ibn El-Sharmoota…" The Egyptian-American swore when he saw the body.

The body of Jeff Wei-Fong was not lying on the ground. It was in fact crucified against the wall behind the counter. There were a large number of swords; Jessica counted eleven, rammed through his body and limbs. One particularly nasty blade had impaled Jeff through his open mouth, holding his head up. The old man appeared to be screaming, his face contorted in agony. The entire wall was splattered with blood as well as the countertop and cash register. Jessica saw that there was broken glass all over the store floor. The glass had come from the displays where the swords had been exhibited. Apparently Sword had broken the glass and taken each sword from its shelf to stab Jeff. The sheer brutality never ceased to disturb Jessica, no matter how often she has seen it by now.

There were three forensic investigators standing around the body, brushing every sword hilt with a finger-duster. A fourth and fifth forensic investigator held cameras, snapping pictures of the corpse. One of the forensics was taking a picture of the bloody handprint driven into the wall. Jessica was taken by surprise when she realized it was the same guy who she had seen taking pictures at the Walker scene. He was the one who had given Jessica a bad vibe. Last time she saw him, the man didn't seem to hate where he found himself. Now he seemed almost pleased as he snapped picture after picture of the handprint.

Jessica didn't get a clear view of him before, but now he wasn't wearing a full body suit. He appeared rather young, possibly an intern. There was a rebellious blue streak dyed down the middle of his short black hair. He had narrow eyes, high cheekbones, and a slender neck. Jessica took all of these features in one glance before turning to Richard.

Jessica pointed to him and said "Richard, who is that guy? The one taking the picture of the handprint, that's who I'm talking about."

Richard followed her pointed finger and said "Oh, that's Phillip Raquel. He's an intern who's currently studying forensics. He joined not that long ago, shortly before these Samael killers started. For some reason he loves photographing, so I let him handle that." Richard looked back at Jessica and asked "Why do you want to know?"

"I don't… there's something I don't like about him." Jessica fumbled. She couldn't identify the reason why that young man made her feel so apprehensive. It was something very basic, almost instinctual. Richard's face screwed up in confusion as they both stared at Phillip. Finally Jessica figuratively threw her hands up and just said "Keep an eye on him for me, would you?"

"Okay-y-y-y…" Richard drawled as he walked away.

Jessica walked outside and saw Steward Tyler speaking to Randy. The tall detective held an electronic device in his hands and was recording Randy's statement. Steward was very good at talking to people; they always seemed to open up to him. Randy's hands were no longer shaking as badly as he sipped his tea. Then she spotted Jared walking through the snow, his head hung low and his brow burrowed in thought. Jessica strode up to him and spoke to him. "I'm about ready to head back to the department. I've seen everything I need to and it seems as though Richard is handling the forensics alright by himself."

"Why did Samael hit a sword shop?" Jared said suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"Why did Samael attack a medieval weapon shop? Don't they already have medieval weapons?"

"We don't know if they even stole anything."

"These guys are weapon freaks; chances are they did steal something. But the question is why?"

"Maybe they wanted more weapons. I don't get why this is such a big deal."

"What if finding the motive for the killings is the key to catching these guys?"

Jessica sighed and grabbed Jared by the shoulder. "You've got it all wrong Jared. Their motive isn't important, not to us and not to them. Look at the carnage they've wrought. Whatever idea they're using to justify all of this bloodshed is fragile at best. Nothing can really validate this much pain and suffering. If it weren't for their current idea, then they would adopt a new one that allows them to cause just as much suffering." She turned Jared to the crime scene and gestured toward it. "They'll rally behind anything that gives them a reason to hurt someone. Their ideals don't matter; they can be abandoned as soon as it ceases to give reason for their massacres."

Jared shrugged Jessica's hand off his shoulder and nodded in understanding. The motive was only important in court; it was not the detective's duty to understand every criminal. It was only to catch them and bring them to justice.

* * *

End Chapter Thirty-One: Sword and Spear

If you're questioning whether or not Jessica is right, then ask yourself this. Do you think, once Noah is dead and in the grave, that Samael will let Michael stop the killing? If your answer is yes, then you need to rewind back to the first chapter and start over. There will never be a stop to the killings, not so long as Samael has anything to say about it.

And he has a lot to say about it.

Translation notes: Ibn El-Sharmoota = Son of a Bitch in Egyptian.


	32. Web of Lies

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: I would like to make something clear right now. My last chapter's ending notes seemed to imply that Noah will definitely die. Make no assumptions as to the direction of my story. Not Michael or Noah is the good guys of this story. When it's evil against evil, then the greater of the two evils will win. Who would you consider the good guys in this story then?

**Author's Notes** (**con**)**:** I feel like I should point out that the beginning of this chapter has trace amounts of time travel. No, there isn't any actual time travel, but the beginning of this chapter takes place in the middle of the last chapter. This is just a friendly reminder to keep track of the times.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Thirty-Two: Web of Lies_

[Day Five (5) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 6:56PM]

"And in today's news, the Samael killers have struck again for the fifth day in a row." said the blonde female reporter on the television set.

I stopped shoveling soup in my mouth and began to listen. It was difficult to hear properly over the clink and clatter of hungry mouths feasting on an endless supply of soup. I was sitting in a soup kitchen ran by Cherry Street Mission, a charity that helped the homeless and helpless. Surrounded I was by the downtrodden and dirty hobos of Toledo. These were people who had lost their homes and were all alone in the world. Perhaps if it were not for my horns, I would feel a strange sense of kinship with these humans. Then again, if it weren't for my horns I wouldn't have lost my home in the first place. It all circled back to humans in the end. They hurt everything and everyone, including other humans, in their misguided sense of entitlement.

The blonde continued to speak "Today's victim was a sixty year old man named Jeff Bei-Fong who was killed in his store."

My breath got caught in my throat. If this store had a camera that captured footage of Samael, then it was all over.

"The police are not releasing photos of the crime scene to the public. They're remaining tight-lipped about the details of the investigation such as suspects or witnesses." To the female reporter's right sat her co-worker, a dark haired man with a generic face. He spoke after her, his fake smile never wavering.

"Our hearts go out to the families of the victims." The man said as morosely as he could manage through his pearly white grin. "We only hope that the police can catch this murderous duo and end their bloody path through the streets of Toledo."

Their mouths were saying one thing but their eyes were glimmering with excitement as they fear-mongered on public television. It was almost fascinating to watch them, I half expected to see drool slip out of the corner of their mouths in anticipation of their ratings. The trouble is the one thing that I wanted to know was one of the things they weren't saying. I needed to know about the store itself, I didn't care about the victim. My red eyes lifted up to the source of my frustrations.

Samael stood atop of the table, towering over me with a sadistic grin spread across his grey face. I scooped some more tasteless soup into my mouth. The spoon slipped out of my mutilated fingers and clattered onto the table. His grin seemed to grow even wider. This time I pinched the spoon so hard my fingernails went white. I returned to eating.

"_**I re**__a__**l**__ly __**do**__n'__**t**__ u__**nd**__e__**rst**__a__**n**__d w__**hy**__ y__**ou**__'__**r**__e in__**sist**__in__**g o**__n __**r**__e__**m**__a__**i**__n__**ing**__ d__**ea**__d t__**o th**__e w__**o**__r__**ld. Wh**__at do__**es**__ i__**t m**__at__**te**__r w__**he**__the__**r or**__ n__**ot**__ a__**ny**__o__**n**__e __**kn**__ow__**s**__ th__**at M**__i__**cha**__el __**Mord**__a__**r**__e __**liv**__es?__**"**_

I absentmindedly scratched at my glass-infested temple with my free hand. I swallowed what soup I had in my mouth before answering in a low voice. Even though nobody could hear my madness, they could hear me. "I'm more worried about people knowing my face than my name. It'd be much harder to walk the streets if everyone knows what I look like. I burned my fingerprints off so they wouldn't be able to match them to me. I'd rather not burn my face off too."

"_**I**__n t__**he e**__n__**d**__, t__**ha**__t __**i**__s__**n'**__t e__**ve**__n __**a go**__od __**ex**__cu__**s**__e. I__**f an**__yo__**ne**__ r__**ec**__o__**g**__ni__**zes**__ y__**ou o**__n __**th**__e str__**eet**__s, __**t**__h__**e**__n __**y**__o__**u ca**__n j__**u**__s__**t**__ k__**ill**__ t__**he**__m. __**If a**__ny__**on**__e __**t**__r__**i**__e__**s**__ t__**o**__ a__**r**__re__**st**__ y__**ou**__, __**t**__h__**en**__ kil__**l**__ th__**em**__ t__**oo**__. __**Yo**__u __**c**__a__**n ki**__ll __**an**__y__**o**__ne __**yo**__u __**w**__a__**n**__t; th__**ere**__ c__**a**__n __**be n**__o s__**it**__u__**a**__t__**ion**__ w__**h**__e__**re**__ l__**ib**__e__**r**__a__**l**__ a__**ppl**__i__**c**__a__**t**__i__**o**__n o__**f v**__ec__**tor**__s __**w**__o__**n'**__t __**be en**__o__**ug**__h.__**"**_

I glared daggers at my insane aspect. There was no need for so much violence. There was a reason why I wasn't just running through the streets hacking every pedestrian to bits. The fact of the matter is I need to let Noah have a slimmer of hope. If he still believes that he can contain the situation, then he will act as fast as he possibly can. It's all part of the pressure game. If I dangle his precious secrecy just out of his reach, then he may keep coming for it. And I need him to keep coming for it, that's the whole point of this plan. If he just ignores me, then I have no way to find him. That's why I kill civilians, to make sure I'm still relevant to his interests.

On the other hand, I don't want to be too large a threat. I have no idea how far Noah will go to keep his secret safe. If he decides to carpet bomb my location, then I'm fucked. Never drive your enemy into desperation; that's something I once read in a book. Humans can do ugly, unthinkable things when they're desperate.

[Day Five (5) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 7:04 PM]

Finished with my soup, I picked up my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. I walked through the crowd of vagrants and exited the building. I briefly considered heading over to the crime scene. But I wanted to avoid any amateur mistakes such as returning to the scene of the crime. Anyways, the police and the news media would be crawling all over the place like flies on a carcass. The only thing I could safely do was stay low and hope my face didn't appear on television.

I still needed to prepare for tonight's murder, so I headed back to the apartment. No amount of time would ever make me think of that place as home. A brisk walk and I made it to the hotel just as the sky finished turning pitch black. I pushed open the cracked glass doors and saw that Robert, the hotel manager, was sitting behind the black iron grate.

"I'm going to my room, I want my keys." I said, holding my hand out toward him.

"They're my keys, I'm just letting you borrow them." said Robert. He produced the keys from out of sight and dropped them into my palm. Then he stopped and stared at my hands. "Jesus, what happened to your fingers?"

"My favorite trick of putting out a match with my fingertips went horribly awry." I snarked. And with that I walked up to my room. I walked up the stairs, flight by flight. Every floor had a different story going on. I could hear people screaming at each other on one floor. I could hear people making love loudly on another. One floor had a delicious sent of a warm meal being prepared. As I passed another floor, I heard the sound of glass breaking and soft sobbing. Then there was my floor. It was completely silent by itself, devoid of sound and stench. It was cold like death. I haven't seen anyone pass my door yet. I remember Robert once saying that he likes to keep everyone as separate as possible, so I may be the only inhabitant of this floor.

This was usually the case, except for this time. To my unpleasant surprise, there were two disgusting people standing on either side of my door. They were Allen and Lonnie, the drug addicts from downstairs. Allen was a white freak with red, watery eyes set deep in pale, sunken skin. His wrists looked torn up, like they were needled repeatedly with a shaking hand. His blonde hair was just as greasy and unkempt as the last time I saw him. Lonnie was worse off, his brown skin looked diseased and loose on his bones. I could practically see the outline of his skull in his head. Lonnie licked his chapped lips and for a moment I could see empty gums. Last time we met I knocked a number of his teeth out. This time I would go for his fingers.

I spoke first. "Are you here to fuck with me? I told you druggies what would happen if you fucked with me. Get out of my way or I'll snap your fingers." Then I moved toward the door of my apartment. Allen cut me off by slapping his hand on the doorframe. I could easily break his scarecrow-skinny arm and continue moving. It would probably make a satisfying snapping sound. I was about to do just this when...

"I know what you did last night." Allen said in a raspy voice.

I involuntarily froze up. Then I fixated my most intense glare at him. Blood-red eyes met blood-red eyes. He didn't seem to care, a nauseating smile spread over his gaunt face. He leaned in and I could smell his rancid breath. I leaned back but didn't say a word.

"I saw you last night, way past curfew. Robert had locked the front door and wasn't letting anyone in. That was all right, it's happened a lot. I have my own special fortress in the alley to sleep in just in case. I made it out of cardboard boxes and trash bags. You probably didn't know it was there; you walked right past me. I woke up and when I saw you, I kept as quiet as I could."

So Samael didn't see him and ended up with a witness. I glanced aside and saw Samael standing beside me, looking every bit as disgusted as I felt. When he spoke, it did not sound the slightest bit apologetic.

"_I__**t'**__s h__**a**__r__**d to**__ d__**e**__t__**ec**__t __**th**__e __**t**__r__**a**__s__**h**__ a__**mon**__g __**t**__h__**e tr**__as__**h."**_

Allen continued to speak, but I already had an idea of where this was going. "There I was… waiting for you to do whatever you were doing. But I wasn't ready for what happened next. You looked up to your apartment and just flew straight up."

"_**Is**__n'__**t**__ i__**t a**__b__**o**__u__**t**__ t__**im**__e __**yo**__u __**k**__il__**led**__ t__**h**__e__**m?"**_

I ignored the specter of slaughter beside me. I couldn't cause a scene here. It would be too hard to find somewhere else to stay at. In any case, these two were hardly a threat. Their credibility was lacking to say the least.

"You saw me flying? Am I hearing you idiots right? You must've been coked out of your minds."

Lonny chipped in, speaking with a lisp. "I didn't see you last night. I was in bed by curfew." He sounded proud of himself for some reason.

"Okay, then only you was high as a kite." I jabbed a finger in Allen's ribs. For a second I thought my finger would pass between his brittle bones. I withdrew my digit and wiped it on my pant leg.

"No way man, I haven't been able to score any shit for the longest time. I know what I saw; you floated straight up to your apartment and went in through the window. I even saw a metal tube thingy behind you."

So Allen saw the sword too. This was quickly becoming a nightmare. I needed to shut this down here and now. "So what, are you two trying to blackmail me or something?"

Lonny and Allen traded triumphant glances. Identical vomit-inducing grins spread across their faces.

"Let's just say that if you don't do as we say, everyone will know about your powers."

I felt like slapping my face. "This sounds like the worst blackmailing ever. As if anyone is going to believe the resident coke-heads. You two had better leave me alone right now or a repeat of last time is going to go down." With that I unlocked my door and shoved past Allen. I was just about to close the door when that idiot shoved his foot in the frame.

"We'll go to the police! We'll tell them you were trying to sell yourself!"

I could practically hear my last nerve shatter into a million pieces. I swung the door open so hard that Allen nearly fell into my apartment. For a second he looked positively gleeful. All eleven of my vectors shot out and slammed into two druggies, knocking them off their feet. I hoisted them into the air and pinned them to the ceiling. Ethereal hands wrapped around their throats and squeezed hard. Their blood-red eyes bugged out as they struggled against my power.

"Okay. You want to see my power? You've got my power. It's not just flight; I can do all kinds of shit. For example, I can make two fuckers disappear off the face of the earth with a single thought." They couldn't make a sound. Their faces were already red and getting redder. "I can kill anyone, anywhere, anytime I want. You haven't got a clue what a shit-hole you've dug yourself into. I told you once that you aren't going to tell anyone anything. I should kill you both and throw you into your rooms. The only reason people would even think to look into it would be the smell."

I lowered them into hands reach and grabbed them both by their greasy hair. I yanked their hair back and snarled in their faces. "I can kill you both anywhere you go. It doesn't matter if you fled to another country. There is nowhere safe for you fuckers. If I sense that you're about to tell someone what transpired here, then you'll drop dead right then and there. I'll be using my powers to keep tabs on you two."

And with that I dropped them onto the floor, their bodies landing in a crumpled heap. Allen looked up at me, tears streaming down his face. I immediately telekinetically lifted his body up and threw him against the wall. He grunted in pain and slid to the dirty floor, heaving deep breaths.

"You don't fuck with me and get away with it. Your lives could end at any second, so pick what you say wisely. You can't get anything past me so don't even try. The only reason why I don't kill you now is because I would rather not be interviewed by the police. Stay away from any officers or you'll be taking your life in your own hands."

Allen and Lonnie mumbled their agreement from their prone positions. I slammed the door shut and flung myself onto my bed. I felt tired for some reason. Dealing with the terminally stupid exhausted the hell out of me. Samael stood on the bed above me, scowling down at me. He was always above me, always berating me.

"_Y__**ou**__ s__**h**__o__**ul**__d __**t**__ea__**r t**__h__**eir**__ h__**ead**__s __**of**__f a__**n**__d __**sta**__n__**d o**__n t__**op**__ o__**f**__ t__**he r**__o__**o**__f, s__**cre**__a__**min**__g '__**I a**__m __**Mic**__ha__**el**__ M__**o**__r__**dar**__e __**a**__nd __**I'**__m __**a mo**__th__**erf**__uc__**ki**__n__**g**__ d__**ic**__lo__**ni**__u__**s**__' t__**o th**__e wo__**r**__l__**d**__. __**Th**__er__**e**__'s __**no**__ r__**ea**__s__**o**__n w__**hy**__ y__**o**__u __**sh**__o__**u**__l__**d b**__e sk__**ul**__ki__**ng**__ i__**n th**__e s__**h**__a__**dow**__s w__**he**__n i__**t**__ w__**o**__u__**ld**__ b__**e so**__ m__**u**__c__**h**__ e__**asi**__e__**r t**__o __**j**__u__**s**__t __**m**__as__**sac**__r__**e eve**__ry__**on**__e.__**"**_

Suddenly a thought occurred to me. I propped myself up on my elbows and rested my chin on my knuckles. I looked up at Samael and spoke. "Hang on, just yesterday you told me that I wasn't even Michael Mordare. You said I was a split personality broken off of Michael's psyche and all that bullshit."

A horrendous grin bisected my doppelganger's face. _**"I**__ w__**as**__ l__**yi**__n__**g**__ w__**he**__n __**I sa**__id __**t**__h__**at."**_

I stared at Samael's eyes as hard as I could. His azure eyes averted to the side. _**"D**__i__**d**__ y__**ou**__ a__**c**__t__**ual**__ly __**b**__e__**l**__i__**e**__v__**e**__ m__**e**__? __**I'v**__e __**g**__ot__**ten**__ d__**e**__ep__**e**__r i__**n yo**__ur __**h**__e__**ad**__ t__**han**__ I __**e**__x__**pec**__te__**d…"**_ For some reason his eyes never met mine as he spoke. They darted around, avoiding direct contact.

Clearly this was a sign that he was lying. But then again, Samael has definitely lied before without demonstrating any tells. So was he lying about me being a split personality? Was he lying about lying, or was he lying about lying about lying…

"Fuck it!" I exploded. "I should never believe a word about what you say. There's a good chance you haven't told me the truth about anything yet!" I grabbed the bed sheets and threw them over my body, clothes and all. "I'm taking a nap; wake me when the time comes for me to kill someone."

"_**Y**__o__**u**__ c__**an**__ k__**il**__l __**m**__e i__**f yo**__u __**a**__c__**tu**__a__**ll**__y __**w**__a__**nt**__e__**d**__ t__**o."**_

I sat up and glared at Samael with all my might. He stared back with an unreadable face, no expression to speak of. "I want you dead. I actually want you to disappear and never bother me again."

"_**No**__w __**w**__h__**o'**__s t__**he l**__i__**ar**__ h__**er**__e__**?"**_

Finally he was gone, returning to the theater where he belonged. I glared at the space where he stood for a second. Then I laid back and tried to dismiss his words outright. But for some reason, I couldn't help but wonder whether or not his last statements were lies after all.

* * *

End Chapter Thirty-Two: Web of Lies

Okay, can we just all agree that Samael is just as good at mind-fucking the readers as he is with Michael? Anyways, let's hope that the druggie duo believe Michael's lie for the time being. Clearly they don't have good memories, seeing it hasn't even been that long since he last beat the living shit out of them.

Next chapter will have more murder, I promise.


	33. Broken

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: We have caught hints and glimpses at the condition of Michael psyche. But despite its depressing state, Michael has continued to function as a normal _homo diclonii_. Methinks he's become confident in his ability to behave rationally despite a nearing total system meltdown. How long until the symptoms of his malfunctioning brain become as plain as the nose on his face?

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Thirty-Three: Broken_

I lay on my back and stared up at an all too familiar ceiling. It was the ceiling that I lived and died under. I could close my eyes and still imagine every square inch of that ceiling. It was an unchangeable constant in my universe. Right up until the moment it burned down. Yet now it stood above me as though nothing happened. As though every single unthinkable, horrible thing that I went through was just a bad dream and I could walk downstairs to my loving family.

My mother walked in the room and told me to stay because she just made my favorite dish. I could smell it so vividly. I wanted this to be real so badly it hurt in my chest. But I told my mother goodbye and forced myself awake.

* * *

[Day Five (5) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 11:49PM]

"_**No!**__ D__**on**__'t __**w**__ak__**e u**__p n__**o—"**_

All of the sudden I could feel myself dropping so fast. My eyes cracked open just in time to watch the pavement rush up to meet me. I couldn't possibly react in time! All of the sudden my rapid descent screeched to a stop. My face was so close to the ground that I could see the grains in the concrete. I finally remembered to breathe.

"_Y__**ou**__ f__**u**__c__**kin**__g __**i**__d__**i**__o__**t**__, __**y**__o__**u c**__o__**ul**__d __**ha**__v__**e br**__o__**ke**__n y__**ou**__r s__**k**__ul__**l op**__en!__**"**_

I ignored the furious screaming and took a moment to take in my surroundings. I quickly recognized my location as the alleyway beside Hotel Carter. Samael apparently hijacked my body and tried to take me outside. If I had to take a guess, Samael was just about to take me to the roof when I reasserted control. This is why I'm now hovering upside-down mere inches above the pavement with my heart pounding in my chest. I turned my head and saw that my vectors had instantly anchored themselves to the walls on either side of me. I hadn't even given the command; it was pure self preservation instinct.

The son of a bitch that had almost gotten me killed stood over me with a murderous expression on his face. He was just upset that I had taken control back so easily.

"Listen up and listen well. I would sooner end my own life than lose control of it. If you take over my body like this again, I will wrench command back instantly, no matter the situation. Remember that next time."

My insanity seethed as I got myself to a standing position. I brushed my hands on my jacket and felt something heavy jostle against my back. I reached over my shoulder and pulled the offending object into line of sight. It was, of course, the stolen sword. The entire length of the sword was hidden quite well in my jacket, with the hilt covered by the hood of my jacket. It was held to my back by a single vector. It was a wonder the thing didn't fall out when I caught myself. I looked at Samael and scoffed.

"Are you serious? What good is a sword going to be to a diclonius? There's no point in carrying it around!"

"_**F**__i__**ne**__, __**d**__r__**o**__p i__**t of**__f i__**n**__ t__**he**__ r__**oo**__m __**o**__n __**y**__o__**ur**__ w__**ay**__ t__**o**__ t__**h**__e __**r**__o__**o**__f.__**"**_

"Fine, I will." I said adamantly. I turned my head skyward at the roof, and then changed my mind. I walked down the alleyway toward a barely noticeable pile of cardboard boxes and trash bags. The trash bags were draped over the boxes, acting as canopies against the environment. I took one vector and slashed it back and forth as hard as I could. The entire cardboard fort was shredded to pieces in seconds. Bits and pieces of plastic and cardboard flew in the air. I saw a magazine with a busty blonde posing like a slut on the cover. That was reduced to thin slices of paper immediately after. Trashing Allen's fort held no significance; it just made me feel better.

My vectors pressed up against the alleyway walls. I started scaling up the walls effortlessly. In a flash I reached my apartment window. I pried the window open with my mutilated fingers. I held the sword in my hand and was just about to deposit it inside when I looked at my deranged doppelganger. He was above me, leaning against the wall with an insufferable smirk on his face. All of the sudden I wondered if I was being manipulated. Was the decision to return the sword to the apartment mine or had I been duped into it? I was the one to suggest it, but then why wasn't he arguing against it? I thought about that for a second before speaking.

"Whatever I decide from now on, it's going to be my choice. You have no power over me anymore!" I said defiantly. With that I put the sword back inside my coat and used a vector to hold it there. Samael shook his head, still smiling.

A couple seconds later and I was flying above it all. Reality and all of its problems dropped away from me, leaving me weightless in a midnight blue sky. White stars peeked out from behind gloomy grey clouds, stretched too thin to blot out every winking light. This roller coaster ride was the only time when I could safely feel _something_ that wasn't simmering hatred. I bounced from snowcapped rooftop to snowcapped rooftop. Each time I landed a spray of white powder slapped me in the face. The shocking cold wiped my mind clean of any thoughts.

* * *

[Day Six (6) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 12:01PM]

With no idea where I was, I arrived at my destination. I hazily recalled the flight like a distant memory or a fading dream. It took me a moment to recognize the area I was in as the West Side. Toledo's west side was the same as every other side. Decrepit houses and untended sidewalks stretched forth before me. The streetlights were blinking like strobe lights, barely strong enough to illuminate the broken concrete below. This was a place full of Darkness.

A crescent moon shone like a silver scythe in the gloomy midnight sky. Inhale and exhale, one step in front of the other, that's the way to survive. I sucked in a breath and exhaled, casting my emotions to the sea of clouds. When I opened my eyes, they were as empty and detached. My vectors slid out of my body and lay on the ground, awaiting my command.

Without hesitation, I began to walk toward a house. It was a single story house with only a couple of windows visible from the front. The lawn was shabby; the windows were shabby; the door was shabby; there just wasn't any other way to describe it. I stepped up to the grungy front door and, not finding a doorbell, rapped on the front door with a vector. I closed my eyes and listened for what was beyond the door.

First I heard shuffling coming from the other side of the door. Then the soft clicking: aged metal locks coming undone. Next was a feminine grunt, the door became stuck in the frame. Finally, the creaking of rusty hinges as the wooden door swung inward. The pathway was open in front of me. I opened my blood-red eyes.

A redheaded woman in her mid-twenties stood in front of me, one pale hand on the door. When she spoke, it was filled with uncertainty. "Hello, can I help you?" I reached up and slid my hood down, exposing my white horns. The woman's eyes locked onto them, her lips opened up to say something.

With a thought, the ginger's head landed on the floor. A fountain of blood erupted from her neckline. The blood sprayed into the house as her slender body fell to the floor like a sack of wet potatoes. I stepped over her body and into the shabby house. The hallway was suffocating in its narrowness, the stench of death filling it entirely. I could touch both sides of the hallway with my elbows at the same time. I ventured forth with the intent of creating more victims. I heard another feminine voice, a more mature voice, calling out from within.

"Alexis, who was it at the door? Alexis?"

I followed the sound of the second woman's voice. Oddly enough, there were absolutely no decorations on any surface. There were no pictures on any walls, no little statues to be seen, and not even any rugs on the floor. In fact, the floor was remarkably clean of any clutter. This was the first house I've been in where everything was so clean. Well, minus the dead body behind me, but that was my fault.

Eventually I entered what appeared to be the living room. The barebones theme extended though out the whole house apparently. There was no television set, no furniture besides some sofas, and there were no lamps in sight. I spotted the second woman sitting in a sofa and my breath caught in my tightening throat.

The dark-skinned woman held a thin cane in her hands. It was not one for supporting, but for seeking. _She's blind_, I thought in dismay. But the true reason for my anguish was not her sightlessness, but her other apparent condition. I could see her bulging pregnant belly poking through her loosely fit sweat clothes. _She's blind and she's pregnant_, tore through my fevered mind. All of the sudden my cast aside emotions returned in full force. There was absolutely no way I could go through with this.

"_**I**__t __**do**__e__**sn**__'t __**g**__e__**t**__ a__**ny e**__a__**s**__i__**er**__ t__**ha**__n t__**his**__. I__**t's a**__ t__**wo f**__or __**on**__e __**s**__p__**ec**__i__**al**__!__**"**_

Samael sounded positively volatile with eagerness. I felt positively sick to my stomach at the concept. I shook my head and whispered.

"No, I'm getting out of here. I've already killed someone. I'm done tonight." Despite my low tone, the woman's sharp hearing picked up on it.

"Excuse me, who's that standing in my doorway? Where's Alexis, did she let you in?" The African-American woman sounded calm, but I could see her hands trembling ever so slightly. Samael whirled around and fixed a ferocious glare in my face.

"_**Y**__o__**u**__'__**r**__e __**do**__ne __**t**__on__**ig**__h__**t?**__ D__**id**__ I __**j**__u__**s**__t h__**ea**__r y__**ou ri**__g__**h**__t? __**Yo**__u'__**v**__e __**go**__t t__**he**__ s__**i**__n__**gl**__e m__**o**__s__**t**__ p__**e**__r__**fe**__c__**t vic**__ti__**m**__ s__**i**__t__**tin**__g __**n**__ot __**te**__n __**f**__e__**et a**__w__**a**__y __**fr**__o__**m**__ y__**ou**__, __**a**__n__**d**__ y__**o**__u__**'r**__e __**go**__i__**n**__g t__**o j**__u__**s**__t __**ru**__n a__**way**__? __**I **__t__**h**__ou__**ght **__w__**e w**__er__**e p**__a__**s**__t__** th**__i__**s!"**_

The woman shouted out. "Alexis! Where are you honey? Answer me please!" Her lower lip trembled.

I tried to keep my voice as low as possible. "I set rules for myself. I will never kill any infants, unborn or otherwise." I turned around and began to walk back the way I came. Samael stood in my way, a homicidal expression on his visage.

"_N__**o o**__n__**e**__ i__**s goi**__n__**g**__ t__**o be**__ a__**fr**__a__**id**__ o__**f a kil**__l__**e**__r w__**ho**__ r__**u**__n__**s a**__w__**ay**__ f__**ro**__m __**a**__ b__**li**__n__**d**__, __**pre**__gn__**an**__t __**w**__o__**m**__a__**n**__!__**"**_

"I'm not out to be feared. I just want to keep putting the pressure on Noah." I said defiantly. I powered my way through Samael, not meeting any physical resistance. Samael screamed his outrage behind me.

"_**Yo**__u __**s**__p__**ar**__e o__**ne**__ p__**e**__r__**son**__'s __**li**__f__**e**__ a__**nd**__ N__**oa**__h i__**s l**__o__**s**__t t__**o**__ y__**ou fo**__re__**v**__e__**r!"**_

I stopped in my tracks, fists balled at my sides. I gritted my teeth and turned back around. Samael's fierce expression filled the entire scope of my vision. He snarled in my face, barely an inch away. I could almost smell his loathing.

"_**On**__c__**e **__y__**o**__u s__**ta**__r__**t le**__t__**ti**__n__**g**__ pe__**opl**__e l__**iv**__e, __**N**__o__**ah**__ w__**il**__l c__**ea**__s__**e**__ b__**e**__l__**iev**__i__**n**__g __**y**__o__**u**__ a__**re**__ a __**re**__al __**t**__h__**r**__e__**at**__. Y__**ou ki**__ll __**t**__h__**i**__s h__**el**__p__**les**__s __**w**__o__**ma**__n a__**nd**__ y__**o**__u __**wil**__l __**ce**__me__**nt**__ y__**ou**__rs__**el**__f a__**s Noa**__h__**'**__s__** n**__u__**mb**__e__**r**__ o__**ne**__ c__**onc**__e__**rn**__. __**Sh**__o__**w hi**__m __**y**__o__**u**__ m__**e**__a__**n bus**__i__**ne**__ss!__**"**_

What was the weight of one pregnant woman and her unborn human baby in comparison to a lasting diclonius civilization? A diclonius-ran world would have no war, no cruelty, and no loneliness. I wouldn't have to be alone. That thought alone made it all seem worthwhile. I inhaled a breath and exhaled. My emotions disappeared under Darkness once more.

"Alexis, are you alright? There's a man in the house! Please answer me! Oh god no…" The woman had broken into panic-stricken sobbing. She pushed herself to her swollen feet and was hobbling deeper into the house's bowls. I followed the sound of her walking cane tapping on surfaces until I regained line of sight. She had one hand on a wall and the other hand, trembling, wrapped around her cane.

I stepped up behind her and pulled one vector back like a scorpion's tail. I carefully aimed at the center of her back, a quick painless strike through her heart. Then I let the vector fly forth—

—_Sarah Mordare smiled back at me as I held one hand against her pregnant belly. I could feel the beating of my baby sibling's feet as she kicked—_

Reality snapped back just in time to watch my vector fly awry, slamming into the wall beside the fleeing mother-to-be. The vector tore a gouge into the wall, wooden splinters sailing through the air. The woman screamed in horror but not in pain. I screamed in pain, it felt like my stomach was on fire. I dropped to my knees and doubled over my burning stomach. A horrible nausea filled my head until I thought it would burst. I tried to scream again, but only projectile vomit erupted from my mouth. The vomit spread across the floor, mostly watery soup. I managed to stop vomiting, if only because there was nothing left in my stomach.

I heaved breath after breath. But my stomach still felt napalmed. _Why is this happening to me_, I wanted to scream. Tears rolled off my face like salty rivers.

"_**Sh**__e__**'**__s __**ge**__t__**t**__i__**ng**__ a__**wa**__y__**! Ki**__ll __**t**__h__**a**__t __**fuc**__ki__**n**__g __**b**__i__**tc**__h! __**G**__e__**t**__ u__**p of**__f t__**he**__ gr__**ou**__n__**d**__ a__**nd**__ k__**ill**__ t__**ha**__t __**fuc**__k__**i**__n__**g bi**__tc__**h!"**_

"No, no, no, no…" I choked out. I could feel consciousness slipping from my fingers like water or sand or something else. I couldn't fall asleep here, but it was rapidly becoming uncontrollable. I slumped to the floor, my face in the puddle of my own vomit. My eyes fluttered closed.

"_**I**__'l__**l**__ f__**uc**__ki__**n**__g __**d**__o __**it m**__ys__**elf**__!__**"**_

The Darkness opened up beneath me and I dropped into its cold embrace. I felt my back slam into a now-familiar theater seat. My eyes snapped open and I saw the entirely massive theater screen. I had to take back control! But even as I thought this my stomach rolled over again. I fell out of my seat and lay prone on my stomach. I couldn't even move a muscle. All I could do is watch helplessly at the screen.

I saw Samael struggle to my feet. He pulled out the sword, sheath and all, and slammed it into the floor. His breath was just as ragged as mine had been. Eyes wild with insanity, he pushed himself to my feet and wiped the vomit off my cheek. The audio in the theater was crystal clear, but the sound of the woman's cane had disappeared. Samael opened my mouth and unleashed a wholly animalistic scream.

That's when I heard it. The unmistakable sound of an infant crying filled the theater. For one crazy moment I thought the woman had given birth in the room next door. Then I realized that this must be two babies, one born and one yet to be born. Samael heard it too, craning my neck toward the source of the crying. A sick smile spread across my face. _No, no, no, no!_

I couldn't let this happen. It didn't matter what happened, I could not let Samael murder a baby in my cold blood. I struggled with all my remaining might, but to no avail. A horrible throaty chuckle escaped my stolen lips as Samael followed the cries to a door. A single vector slid out of my body and pushed the door off its hinges. The baby's cries were drowned out by the loud impact of the door landing on the ground. The baby became silent for a second before screaming even louder than before.

Samael staggered up to the baby in its crib. He drew the blade out from its sheath and held it in both hands. He drew himself to my full height and pointed the blade straight down. I screamed in horror as Samael stabbed the sword down.

The screen blinked hard and suddenly I was watching something else. I could see… myself? I was cradling the dead infantile body of Theresa Donna Mordare in my arms. The sound of tortured sobbing, my sobbing, echoed in the theater. The bodies of my parents were cast in the early morning sunlight…

Suddenly the motion picture flashed. I saw my body lying on the ground, sword still held limply in hand. The baby was still screaming for its mother, something I never thought I would be relieved to hear. I heard a loud thud beside me. Samael was on the ground of the theater, writhing in agony as he suffered the same pain I had felt. This was my chance! Once more I tried to retake control. I felt myself flying upward and—

My eyes opened of my own accord. I gripped the sword in my hand and curled my other hand into a tight fist. My vectors exploded out of my back and pushed me to my unsteady feet. I almost fell again, but I used the sword like a crutch. For a reason I couldn't comprehend I used a vector to grab the sheath and inserted the sword back into it. I had to get out of here before there was another attack. The sheer horror of what was happening to me numbed my stomach, but it wouldn't last. I hobbled out of the baby's bedroom and into the vomit drenched hallway.

"I'm broken…" I realized aloud. I've been trying to avoid this, but it was now an inescapable reality. "I'm broken. I'm broken. I'm broken…" I repeated this without end as I shambled through the house. I could hear the woman speaking as though in the distance. I managed to make out words like "man in the house" and "police" and what sounded like the address. It was too late to stop the call; all I could do is try to get away.

As soon as the front door came into sight I slammed my vectors into the walls, handprints appearing on every surface. I used my vectors to pull myself over Alexis's headless body, through the front door, and into the night. The cold air felt like ice-water on my sweat-drenched skin. Sheer panic drove me forward as I escaped from that wretched house.

"I'm broken… I'm broken… I'm broken…"

* * *

End Chapter Thirty-Three: Broken

Jessica's going to have an interesting morning, that's for sure…

Things are only going to get worse for Michael Mordare. He stands at the edge of the precipice with one foot hanging over madness. All it would take is one gentle nudge to send him hurtling into the Darkness.

Cue Samael punting Michael in the ass before diving in after him.


	34. No Rest for the Weary

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: This tome is three strings woven together in a dreadful braid. This red and black thread is Michael and Samael; a tale of tragedy and encroaching madness. This violet and white thread is Jessica and the department's story; a narrative about sacrifice and the pursuit of justice. This azure and amber thread is Noah and the Facility; a dark fiction about manipulation and conspiracy.

They're all separate accounts of the same story. But eventually they must converge and connect, catching sight of each other for the briefest glimpses. This is the first chapter in which all three stories progress simultaneously. Read on and find out what happens when worlds collide…

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Thirty-Four: No Rest for the Weary_

[Day Six (6) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 12:49AM]

I couldn't even remember how I gotten back to the apartment. Was I in control during the flight, or was my unwanted passenger in the pilot seat? I didn't know, I didn't care, and it didn't matter. I was broken, completely shattered. I didn't dare move from my single-room apartment. I curled into a fetal position and held the stained pillow against my face. Any stimulus could trigger another attack, more uncontrollable retching and emptying of my stomach. I didn't want to see anymore hallucinations of my past long lost. My mind was a hair-trigger bomb just waiting for something to set it off again.

My stomach hurt, although not as much as it had less than an hour ago. Now the source of my pain could be attributed to hunger. I had expelled all of my stomach contents in that house on the West Side of Toledo. Merely remembering made me writhe in anguish. The police would answer the call, the detectives would find the pool of vomit, and I might as well have handed them my finger prints while I was at it. My DNA would be all over the crime scene. Even if I wasn't on file, they had enough evidence to incriminate me should I get caught. After that I would have no choice but to tear down the masquerade.

Somehow, the worst part of this whole night was the _silence_. Samael hasn't spoken a word since he lost control of my body. The Voice being silent wasn't unusual, but somehow this felt different. I can usually _feel_ his presence, watching me with condemning cobalt eyes. But now my mind felt _empty_, completely cleared out. I didn't know why this was so disconcerting.

_When did the idea of just one voice in my head become such a scary thought?_

For the first time since I lost everything, I was utterly alone. This was worse than the kind of loneliness that I felt in my darkened childhood. At least back then I had Mother, even if she was a miserable drunk. This was something different, a horrifying realization that I had nobody at all to talk to.

_What if this is the rest of my life?_

Have I become so starved for conversation that I was even missing my own insanity? What sort of things would Samael even say? He'd probably just call me a fucking idiot, or a piece of shit, or some combination of the two. But a venomous cobra is better company than no one at all. Despite struggling with it for my entire life, I will always hate this gnawing pit in my heart called loneliness.

I tightened my fetal position and silently cried out into my Darkness.

* * *

[Day Six (6) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 12:49AM]

At first Lucas didn't know what had awakened him. He relinquished sleep's hold over him and pried his ears and eyes open. All he saw was the pale moonlight streaming in from Jessica's bedroom window, spilling over the bed sheets and casting pitch black shadows over every uneven surface. Then he heard what had awakened him: Jessica's cell phone.

"_I'm searching for answers, 'cause something's not right, I follow the signs, I'm close to the fire…"_ the ringtone sang. Very fortunately, the cell phone was on Luke's side of the bed. He quickly reached over to the night stand and, fumbling for a second, flipped the phone open. He then brought the phone up to his ear and spoke in a low, groggy voice.

"Hell—Hello? Who is this?"

An equally groggy voice answered. "Hello, I'm calling from the police station, trying to reach Jessica Hawker. May I ask who this is?"

"This is Lucas Queen, Jessica's fiancé. Are you trying to call her in as part of her current case?" Lucas asked.

"Yes. Could you tell her that another victim has been found and that we need her to come in?"

Lucas turned in the bed and looked at Jessica's still form next to him. Then he whispered "Listen, Jessica hasn't gotten a good night's sleep for days now. I have finally gotten her to put down her coffee cup and crawl in bed. You need to call someone else because she needs this sleep…"

A slender hand reached around Lucas's ear and plucked the phone out of his grasp. Jessica withdrew her hand and brought her phone up to her mouth. "Sorry, but unless this is really important, I can't come in tonight. I'll drop by the department tomorrow and catch up—"

Suddenly her eyes grew wide and she spoke to Lucas. "Go get me a cup of coffee, now please."

Lucas stared at her face. Jessica had dark bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. Despite this, there were no signs of weariness to be found in her eyes. In fact, she looked livelier right now than she has since this whole mess started. A victorious expression lit her face up like a candle. Lucas sighed and swung his legs out of bed.

"There's no talking you out of going, is there?" he spoke in a resigned voice. Jessica nearly leaped out of bed and began to dress herself in her uniform. The slither of clothes brushing against bare skin was the only answer he received. Moments later Lucas returned with a moderately hot cup of caffeinated sugar-water. Jessica grabbed the cup and kissed Lucas square on the lips. Lucas brushed her face with his fingers and held her lips against his. Jessica held the kiss for a second and then pulled away. "Can't you at least tell me what's so important that you can't even let yourself sleep first?" Lucas sounded anxious.

Jessica had donned her trench coat and was nearly out the door before she turned around. "We found a survivor."

Then she was gone and Lucas was left standing alone.

* * *

[Day Six (6) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 1:11AM]

A squeal of wet tires trying to brake on cold pavement filled the night air. Narrowly avoiding rear ending a police car, Jessica brought her car to a stop and fished out her badge. A policeman glanced at her badge and her apologetic expression before lifting a length of black and yellow tape. Jessie slowly maneuvered her car under the tape, apologizing profusely all the way. The crime scene was in Toledo's Westside, an area not unlike its downtown dwellings. The house had only one story with a small number of boarded up windows. The lawn had brown dead weeds choking what little life remained. Numerous policemen were walking up and down the decrepit neighborhood sidewalks and knocking on doors.

It wasn't long before Jessica spotted Detective Ishtar. She walked up to him and spoke.

"Alright, I've finally arrived."

Jared replied dryly "Yeah, so I heard. Do you always drive like a madwoman?"

"I'm not a bad driver." Jessica protested.

"It hasn't been six hours since you the last time you nearly got us in a car accident. Have you gotten any sleep?"

Jess shook her head "I got an hour of sleep…"

Jared's mouth dropped open. "Jesus Jessie, you're going to drive yourself into the dirt if you go on like this."

Jessica balled her hands into fists "I'll get some sleep once I've spoken to our witness."

With an eyebrow arched, Jared replied "What do you mean by witness?"

"You know, the person who survived tonight's attack."

"Oh, I wouldn't exactly call her a witness."

Suddenly worried, Jessica asked "What are you talking about?"

Jared had a displeased expression "Our 'witness' is blind."

"Oh my god, did they... "

"No, no, no, Sword and Spear didn't gouge out her eyes. Apparently Miss Llewellyn has been blind for decades. She said something about a fireworks accident. It doesn't have anything to do with our investigation."

Suddenly all of the energy drained out of Jessica's body. "So we don't have anything after all."

A roguish smirk appeared on Jared's face "I wouldn't say that. We may have something even better. You'll want to talk to Herman about that."

Judging by the fact that Jared had pronounced Richard's last name correctly, this really was big. Jessica stared inquisitively at Jared as he pointed toward the house. Then he began to walk toward an ambulance. Jessica spotted a dark skinned woman with a walking cane sitting inside the ambulance. She saw that the woman was extremely pregnant. In Miss Llewellyn's arms was another baby, crying sleepily.

"_Those monsters tried to kill a pregnant woman and her babies? It's like they're getting worse every day!"_ Jessica thought in dismay.

Shaking her head slowly, the detective walked toward the house. To her dreary surprise, there were five cameramen were crowded around and inside the front entrance. There was the body of a young woman lying in a solid pool of blood. Her neck ended abruptly in a blood drenched stump. A decapitated head with red hair was sitting next to the body, presumably belonging to the corpse.

At first Jessica didn't understand why there needed to be five camera wielding forensic investigators. Then she saw _those things_. Even though she understood what she was seeing, it didn't make any sense. There were a large number of handprints, eleven in total, on every surface around the front door. Each handprint was different in that some had fully splayed fingers and others had the fingers together in different ways. _There's that number again, eleven… there were eleven swords stabbed into Jeff Wei Fong's body… I wonder if that has any significance…_

Then Jessica looked at the cameramen and spotted Phillip Raquel. He was kneeling down, snapping pictures of the handprints on the ground around the body. The handprints on the floor had filled with the blood of the victim. Raquel still gave Jessica the creeps, so she walked around the house to the rear entrance. The backyard seemed untouched, although it was difficult to tell due to its state of poor condition. Jessica spotted a couple more forensics members standing around the back door. They appeared to be packing vials of yellowish bile into thermoses.

Jessica hurried past the men and into the house. Immediately she was hit with a nauseous stench. At first Jessica assumed it was more blood, but then she realized that this smelled different. She followed the smell and found Richard Herman in a narrow hallway. He was kneeling in front of a puddle of the same orangey slush. It was only then she realized what the mire was.

"Is that sick you're sticking your fingers in?" Jessica asked Richard. The handsome researcher abruptly turned around and nearly lost his balance.

"Detective Hawker, I didn't hear you sneak up on me." Richard said while scratching at the hairnet that held his raven locks still.

"Who does that vomit belong to?" Jessica questioned.

"Not our survivor or victim, that's for sure. The victim never made it past the front door; that much is for certain. And our survivor pledged that she didn't throw up during the attack."

"So this is definitely one of the Samael killer's puke on the floor?"

"I'd say it's a safe bet."

"This throw up must have DNA in it! We've got a DNA sample of one of the killers!" Jessica applauded.

Despite the great news, Richard looked depressed. "I wouldn't celebrate too much, not yet anyways." Jessica felt a pit grow in her stomach as Richard explained "The problem is that the stomach's gastric acid has eaten away at the DNA. There's no telling how much usable DNA is left. What's worse is the fact that any organic tissue in the stomach will add to the mix and ruin more DNA strands. I'm definitely seeing some organic gunk in here." Then Richard wafted some of the air toward him and said "I think it smells like chicken noodle soup."

Jessica ground her face in her hands. All of her excitement had just been reversed into misery. Then she looked up from her palms and saw something that nearly floored her. Seeing Herman and the pool of sick had distracted Jessica from something so staggering that Jessica felt lightheaded just looking at it. Along the wall to Richard's right was a huge, two meter long gouge. It appeared just nearly miss tearing clear through the wall. If Jessica walked on the other side of the wall, she would see great cracks along the length of the gash. There was nothing that Jessica could think up that explained the hollowed out wall.

"What, the fuck, is that?" Jessica swore for emphasis. Richard looked to his right and sighed deeply.

"That appears to be where Samael fired a cannonball and missed our survivor."

"You're kidding."

"Of course I am. There aren't scorch marks or any gunpowder residue."

"There's got to be something that could cause this kind of damage, aside from cannon fire."

"Well, I'm out of ideas. I guess that's your job now."

Exhaling explosively, Jessica walked out the back door and returned to the bustling front lawn. She saw the tall figure of Stewart Tyler speaking to Miss Llewellyn. He was more than capable of gently coaxing information from their witness, even if it wasn't a physical description. Similarly Aaron Lemon was speaking to next door neighbors. Finally, Jessica spotted Jared leaning up against the ambulance, apparently jotting notes down on an electronic tablet as Llewellyn spoke to Stewart.

Jessica strolled up to Jared and spoke to him. "Hey, I want to get your opinion on this scene."

"Alright, I was just finishing anyways."

Jessica led Jared to the front door. By now the forensic cameramen had moved on inside. Alexis's body had also been removed, although the blood pool remained. Jessie gestured to the eleven handprints in the front entrance. Jared stepped around the redness and put his hand beside one of the handprints. The handprint had a wider spread and thicker fingers. Jared then put all of his weight against his hand and shoved against the concrete wall. Predictably, the Egyptian-American was pushed back. Jessica noticed a black two-door car driving up to the house.

Ignoring the black car for the moment, Jessica said "I still can't believe our own assumption that the killers are carrying around a metal mold of a hand. Just when I think I can imagine something that insane, we get all of these. Did you notice that each hand is different from all of the others? That means either the killers are carrying eleven different molds everywhere, or we're missing a big piece of the puzzle."

"I think we're missing more than one big piece of this puzzle." Jared remarked. "Anyways, you saw the puke, right?"

Jessica nodded "That's another thing, why did one of the killers blow chunks in the middle of a kill?"

"He caught the flu?"

"So he's sick as a dog and he still goes out to kill someone?"

"Maybe he's a workaholic. Always goes to work even when he's feeling like crap. You guys might get along…" Jessica turned and shot Jared such a glare that the Egyptian-American immediately crumbled. "I mean, if he wasn't a murdering psychopathic piece of shit… sorry…"

"If our killer fled the scene, who made all of these imprints?"

"It would have to be the other killer. But that doesn't make sense either because our witness said there was only one man. If the other guy was here, why didn't he kill Llewellyn?"

"Yeah, the other killer obviously spent a lot of time making these handprints. Nothing makes sense right now."

Then a new voice spoke. "Maybe the reason you can't make sense of this is because both of you are stuck in one theory."

The two detectives looked in the direction of the voice and saw a middle-aged tall Caucasian man in a black suit and tie. His blond, almost white, hair was neatly trimmed to finger length. He wore a pair of black sunglasses that covered up his eyes. The man had a clean shaven square jaw and a narrow mouth set in a neutral expression. His nose was similarly narrow and blunted. When he spoke, his voice was cool as the frigid air.

Jared was the first to react. "I'm sorry, but citizens aren't allowed near the crime scene." The male detective said in a flat voice.

The man replied "My name is Agent Raven, I'm from the F.B.I." Then he produced a golden badge with the letters F.B.I. engraved on it.

Jessica's mouth dropped open in surprise at the sight of a real life F.B.I. agent standing in front of her. She quickly recovered and began to question Agent Raven. "What is the F.B.I. doing in Toledo?"

"I've been sent to aid you in this case."

"How come I wasn't informed of this?"

"That's probably because I just got off the phone with your chief."

"What exactly is going to happen to this case? Are we handing it over to you?"

"No, I have been sent here to offer advice on this case. The local police force will be making the final arrest. I am not taking credit for anything."

"You're just an advisor? Are you the only agent that the F.B.I. sent?"

"That's correct."

"Why…?" Jessica began to ask. That's when Agent Raven interrupted.

"I will explain everything in detail at tomorrow's meeting. For the moment, I want to focus on these handprints." Raven walked through the snowy lawn and up to the gore encrusted doorway. Jessica and Jared fell silent, feeling as though it would it would be improper to keep questioning him. When Raven spoke, the two Ohioan detectives listened with captive ears. "Your theory is flawed."

Despite feeling a wee bit miffed, Jessica managed to keep her tone neutral. "What do you mean by that?"

Jared was less successful in keeping his irritation out of his voice. "Oh please tell us, oh F.B.I. one, how is our theories mistaken?" Sarcasm dripped from his tongue like spoiled honey.

Either Agent Raven didn't hear the sarcasm or he simply didn't care. "Your current theory is that there are two killers, codenames Spear and Sword. You've based this on evidence of at least two _modus operandi_, as well as circumstantial evidence that can't be proven or disproven outright."

Jessica got the feeling that Raven was waiting for someone to say something, so she spoke. "Are you saying that there may really be only one killer?"

"Actually, I believe there may be more than two killers. Let's be realistic, there isn't a feasible possibility that one or two men could make all eleven of these handprints without it taking less than an hour. The police arrived in less than half an hour. The only way these handprints could have come to be is if there were many more people. I can't guess at a number, but we know there could be as many as eleven killers."

"Hold on! There hasn't been any evidence that suggests more than two killers. The idea that there are eleven killers all working together since the beginning…"

"There may not have been eleven Samael killers in the beginning. Our theories may not be mutually exclusive."

"I say there are two killers. You say there are eleven killers. How is that not mutually exclusive?"

"There may have been just two killers in the beginning. Now there are at least eleven killers. What do you think this could mean?"Jessica's heart dropped into the region known as her feet.

"They're recruiting." Jessica said in a low voice.

Jared groaned and his shoulders slumped. Jessica wracked her head, trying to find anything that could counter this theory. Nothing came to mind; this explained so many things so neatly. Jessica suddenly found herself hating Agent Raven for bringing up this theory. The idea that there were two killers working in tandem was horrifying. But to even consider as many as eleven killers was enough to make Jessica shake. And if there really was a recruitment drive for killers, then that number might increase.

_Where are all of these killers even coming from?_

As Jessica struggled to extinguish her unwarranted anger, Raven spoke again. "I want to speak to the witness."

"Miss Llewellyn Reyes isn't much of a witness." Jared interjected.

"Nonetheless, she is the first person who had direct contact with our killer and survived."

"You mean killers?"

"That's what I said."

"Anyways, we already have someone speaking to the survivor."

"That's fine; I just need to ask her a few things myself."

Jared led Raven to the ambulance where Llewellyn was sitting. Jessica followed in tow, feeling numb from exhaustion. As the unlikely trio neared the emergency vehicle they overheard the pregnant woman speaking to Stewart.

"Alexis was such a nice girl. She always took care of me, cooked the best food too. I can't believe she's gone. Who would do such a thing?"

Stewart answered in a tender tone "That's what we're trying to find out. You described the killer as sounding very young?"

"Yes. I heard him talking in the hallway. He said that he was leaving because he had already killed someone. That man killed Alexis without a second's remorse…" Llewellyn's face crumbled and fresh tears leaked out of her bloodshot eyes. It was a good few moments before she could speak again.

Stewart waited patiently before asking Llewellyn a question. "He said he was leaving? Who was he speaking to? Was he speaking to you?"

Llewellyn recomposed herself and answered "No, he was talking in nearly a whisper. He was speaking to someone else. I didn't hear anyone answering, but the killer just kept talking."

Stewart jotted some notes down on a paper pad. "How old would you guess the killer was? Can you give us an estimate?"

"I don't think he was even in his twenties."

Stewart stopped writing and quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"I'm as sure as I can be."

Agent Raven stopped in front of the ambulance. Detective Stewart noticed his presence at the last moment. The F.B.I. agent produced his badge and said "I am Agent Raven of the F.B.I. and I would like to speak with Miss Llewellyn in private."

The male detective looked past Raven and at Jessica. She gestured to Stewart to come to her. Stewart bade the blind mother goodbye and made way for Raven. The mysterious man stepped into the ambulance and pulled the doors shut. As the doors shut, they could see the uncertainty in Llewellyn's face.

Jared and Stewart walked over to Jessica's car, with the car owner following sluggishly. There was nothing left that needed to be done, Jessica thought. It would take a while for Richard to get lab results from the puke. Stewart had spoken to the witness. Jared could take over for Jessica while she got some shuteye. Maybe if they were lucky, the killers would all get sick. Or maybe they would all take a vacation to the Bahamas and decide to give up their evil ways. Good heavens Jessica needed some sleep.

Unfortunately, Jared and Stewart were in the mood to talk. Jared leaned up against the hood and crossed his arms. Stewart pulled out a pack of zero-nicotine cigarettes and lit one in his mouth. Jessica opened her car door, sat in the seat, and reclined all the way back.

Stewart was the first to speak "So what's happening with the F.B.I. in Toledo?"

Jared answered his question with "It's just one guy. He's here to help us with our case."

"Are we handing the case over to the feds?"

Jessica tried to keep listening but she was simply too tired. The detectives' voices faded out as her eyes fluttered close. Suddenly a hand grabbed her shoulder and shook her firmly. Jessie's eyes snapped open and she saw Jared's hand on her shoulder. He actually looked concerned.

"Do you need me to drive you home?" asked Jared. Jessie grumbled in pathetic protest. "You're too tired to drive. C'mon, I'll drive you home."

A pang of guilt punched through Jessica's heart. While she agreed that driving alone was not an option, Jared was not the proper choice of a chauffeur. She had to voice her concern. "Actually, I would rather Stewart drive me home." Jessie looked at Stewart.

"Is there any particular reason?"

Jessica didn't want to say it, but it needed to be said. "Lucas has jealousy issues. I don't want to make him uncomfortable. But he'd be alright with Stewart driving me home because…" She trailed off with a grimace.

Stewart nodded in understanding. "I get it. What are gay friends for, am I right?"

"I don't mean to take advantage of you."

"Don't fret missy, I'll drive you home."

"I'll ride in your car. I'll just pick up my car in the morning." Stewart held out his hand and helped Jessica out of her car. She shuffled her feet as they walked past the ambulance. At that moment, Llewellyn stepped out of the red and white emergency transport. Her baby was screaming hysterically. Jessica noted a small band-aid on the baby's arm that hadn't been there before. Curiosity briefly overrode Jessica's exhaustion and she walked back to the pregnant woman. "What did Agent Raven ask you?" Jessica questioned.

Llewellyn looked at Jessica with terrified eyes and answered. "He asked me if my baby was a boy. I said yes. Then he told me that he needed a sample of my baby boy's blood. He forcefully took it without giving an explanation. He didn't even wait; he just took a blood-extractor and jabbed my son in the arm. I don't even know why he did it!"

The snow crunched underneath Raven's shoes as he walked up to the pair of women. He dropped something small into his pocket and spoke in that ice-cold voice. "Thank you for your cooperation. I will let you know if there is anything else that is required of you."

Jessie's stared incredulously at the F.B.I. agent. "What in heaven's name did you need to take a baby's blood sample for?"

Then he said something that she was going to hear quite a bit in the near future. "That's classified."

After that Jessica left with Stewart. Jessica tried to sleep, but the thought of eleven mass murderers kept her awake.

* * *

Deep in the underground research facility, Noah sat in a queer silence in his brightly lit office. A moonless night over a cold, black ocean filled his windows. This was the fourth day without sleep and Noah was well aware of the symptoms. He was irritable all the time, his muscles would occasionally twitch, and he would experience nausea at the most inopportune times. So far nobody but the good doctor knew Noah's predicament. The doctor had promised to procure medicine two days ago, but so far he's been too busy with Noah's ace in the hole.

Hallucinations couldn't be too far behind, Noah thought pessimistically. That's when his office phone chose to ring. The high pitched shrill snapped Noah from his micro-sleep episode, the only sleep he's been able to get for forty days… no, it was only four days. Noah rubbed his eyes wearily with one hand while picking up the phone with the other.

Stephanie, his secretary, answered in a blithely chipper voice. "Mister Brimstrome, you've got a call from Agent Nathan Raven. Would you like for me to patch him through?" Noah cringed at her grating cheerfulness.

"Yes…" Noah drew the word out like a violin string stretched tight.

There were a few clicks on the other side of the phone before a cool voice spoke in Noah's ear. "Mr. Brimstrome, this is Agent Raven."

"I told you to report in at 10 o' clock. I did not say you could report in at any other time."

"Sorry, but I just finished introducing myself to the team of detectives working the Samael case."

Noah snapped in response. "Is that the only thing you accomplished? I sent you over to pollute their investigation, not shake hands and disappear!"

"I—I have already begun to do that. They were working with a theory that there were two killers. I have suggested that there are many more killers. They seem to believe me. I figured that would help explain some of the discrepancies we're sure to run into…"

Noah sucked in a breath to calm himself. Agent Raven was doing his duty; there was no need to attack him. Sudden anger was only a sign of weakness. "That's fine, what about the supposed witness?"

"The survivor is an African-American woman named Llewellyn Reyes. She is a mother and a mother to be, seven months pregnant. Oh, and she's blind."

"She's blind? Did Michael gouge her eyes out?"

"Uh, no sir, Miss Reyes has been blind since she was a child."

"What about her baby? Is it in any danger of carrying the infection?"

"I have secured a sample of the baby's blood. I'll have it sent to the research facility in the morning."

"Be sure you do. We need to track as much of the infection as possible."

"What will happen to the baby if he's found to be infected?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to." Noah's tone was heavy with implications. Agent Raven went silent. Noah dropped the phone into its cradle and stood up. It was about time to visit the good doctor and his ace in the hole.

* * *

The door to the training room hissed as it opened. Noah imagined the sound of a rattlesnake shaking its tail menacingly. This was the third or fourth room that Subject S-148 has occupied since her programming had begun. Doctor Suchong stood in the observatory over the training room. He was watching the female diclonius as she underwent continuous programming.

Noah walked up beside him and peered through the thick Plexiglas. The blonde diclonius was sitting comfortably in a theater chair. There were no more straps holding her down. She was staring forward with a blank expression as psychedelic images flashed across a large screen. The programming seemed to be progressing smoothly despite the doctor's protests about the deadline.

"What can I do for you?" Doctor Suchong asked dryly. Noah held his arms behind his back as the two conversed.

"I would like to know much longer it'll take for Subject S-148 to be ready."

"I'm just putting in the finishing touches as we speak."

"Excellent."

"I was being sardonic. I told you it would take five weeks."

"I said to get it done in two weeks."

"That was a week ago." There was movement just outside Noah's peripheral vision. Noah turned his head to look. For a split second, he thought he saw _something_ sitting in the corner of the room. But when he focused his weary eyes on the _something_, it was gone. Suchong followed Noah's line of sight before turning back to him. "It's been a gracious long time since you've slept. Have you been seeing any hallucinations yet?"

Noah narrowed his eyes into a glare. "I think you're going too easy on the diclonius. You should remember what happens to diclonius sympathizers."

"I am not a diclonius sympathizer!"

"I think you can finish her programming in three days."

Doctor Suchong turned on Noah Brimstrome in shock. "I am already working her mind as hard as I can. There is no possible way to force her brain to accept the programming any faster. She's already in danger of a complete catastrophic mental breakdown. She would revert back to a blank slate if that happened, undoing seven days of programming! And do I even need to mention that the stability of the programs is already questionable at best? There is no chance that I can get this done in three days!"

Noah did not appreciate being yelled at. His voice was cold as ice when he spoke. "You have three days. I don't care if you have to cut out eating, sleeping, and shitting to get this done. You have squandered enough of my time." Then he turned on his heels and strode toward the door.

Suchong shouted after him. "You're letting your sleep deprivation impair your judgment!" He could only watch in despair as the door closed between them. He knew it would be useless to chase after that man. Suchong looked back at Amber and shook his head sadly. "You're supposed to be his ace in the hole. You might turn out to be the tool of his destruction."

* * *

End Chapter Thirty-Four: No Rest for the Weary

It seems nobody is getting any sleep tonight. Two strands wind together while one hangs off to the side. That is the beginning of a braid. How long then until all three threads meet together? Who will survive the conclusion?

Don't make too much of this, but I hope you aren't getting too attached to any particular character in this story.


	35. Triggers

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

**Summary**: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's descent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

**Warnings**: This is rated T for bad language, drug referencing, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

**Author's Notes**: I am back from a brief hiatus as I learned how to juggle college and a job. I will do my best to keep a release schedule. Let's see if we can't shorten the time between chapters. I'm sure you're all as eager as I am to see what will happen when Amber finally steps foot in Toledo.

* * *

_**Angel of Massacre**_

_Chapter Thirty-Five: Triggers_

[Day Six (6) of Investigation, Case# 004210-0659 10:13AM]

I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of my apartment. In my lap was my backpack with the broad straps. In my hand was the only surviving picture of my family. I held it gently, as though it would dissolve into ashes like everything else in my life. I have been sitting here for a couple hours. I haven't left my apartment, not yet. I still don't know what triggers these attacks. I don't have an explanation as to why I vomited my stomach out last night. Anything could set off another hallucination and more puking. At this point it would be less puking and more like dry heaves.

There was nothing in my stomach. It felt like a sick pit in my belly. I rolled my shirt up and looked at my pale body. I was much skinnier than I had been before. I was losing weight fast. A part of me wondered whether generating vectors burned calories. My ribs poked through my waxy skin and my limbs were thinner than ever. I was so hungry that my hands were shaking. It was an unreal level of hunger. It felt like my body was shrinking with every passing hour.

My blurred vision focused on the picture of my lost life. I lightly traced the faces of my mother and father with a fingernail. I could not forget their faces at the moment of death. My mother's cracked smile was burned in my head like a picture from a horror museum. I remembered the blood-drenched carpet with two corpses sitting in the middle of the room. I remembered the weight of my unborn baby sister in my arms. I remembered the pain of burning my fingertips off. Those moments felt like ages ago, but it hasn't even been five weeks. So much has happened. I've changed in so many ways.

I didn't need to turn around to know _he_ was standing behind me. I could feel _him_ returning some time ago. I felt _his_ presence filling my head, sinking his poison back into my mind. I could tell that _that thing_ was towering over me, glaring his _hateful_ azure eyes at the back of my neck. I wondered if my brief time alone was actually a sane period.

"_**Y**__o__**u f**__u__**c**__k__**in**__g __**p**__ie__**ce o**__f s__**hit**__.__**"**_

I tried to sound disinterested. "Oh, you're back. I hardly even noticed you were gone."

A pale hand grabbed hold of my shoulder. I was forcefully turned around and made to stare into dark blue odium. It didn't matter how many times I saw my reflection, it never ceased to disturb me how _wrong_ it looked. I couldn't put my finger on it though. I didn't know whether the nose was too narrow or the scowl was too wide. There was something subtly _off_ that made my skin crawl. Samael's face was somewhere between inhumane and too human, hanging with one foot over the uncanny valley. He glared at me with more loathing than I have ever seen.

"_Y__**ou f**__uc__**ke**__d u__**p bi**__g t__**im**__e. __**Th**__er__**e i**__s n__**o**__ de__**sc**__ri__**b**__i__**ng ju**__st __**h**__o__**w**__ b__**adl**__y __**yo**__u f__**uc**__k__**ed**__ u__**p."**_

I turned back around and tried to return to brooding over my family picture. Samael walked around and stood over me like a malicious sentinel. I turned my misshapen head up and looked at him. "You're not going to hear me apologize for last night."

Samael's cerulean eyes flashed with anger. _**"I**__'__**m **__n__**ot**__ ta__**lk**__i__**n**__g __**a**__b__**o**__u__**t**__ l__**as**__t __**nig**__h__**t**__. Y__**ou**__ di__**d s**__o__**m**__e__**thin**__g f__**ar**__ w__**o**__r__**se**__ f__**u**__r__**th**__e__**r ba**__ck.__**"**_

My eyebrow shot up. When did I do something worse than try to kill a pregnant woman? Up until this moment, I was pretty sure I had just recently hit rock bottom. Samael narrowed his eyes and a hole opened up beneath my feet.

I dropped into the Darkness.

* * *

This time I was prepared for it. I landed on my feet, the noise echoed in the vast amphitheatre of my mind. It's been a while since I was last here, but nothing has changed.

I glanced around and spotted Samael sitting in a theater chair, next to another empty one. He snapped his willowy fingers and pointed at the seat beside him, giving orders like I was a dog. Being as hungry as I was, I didn't even have enough strength to act defiant. I dragged my feet over to the empty chair before depositing my ass on the seat. Samael refocused his attention to the gigantic theater screen. The football-field sized screen abruptly changed channels numerous times. Each channel that blinked by depicted another moment of my recent activities. I saw the memories of young women and old men alike, brown and white, civilian and soldier, all lying at my feet. Has it already been so many? I didn't even know the number of my kills.

The screen changed one last time and I saw an all too familiar sight. A horned young man kneeling in his parents' blood, his skin and clothes slathered in blood that was not his own. His slender white arms were locked stiff against his legs. I could still remember the acidic stench of gunfire and the salty-iron taste of blood in my mouth. Soft rays of sunlight were stained red as they were filtered through the blood drenched drapes. The screen blurred for no reason, until I realized that it was my crimson eyes that were brimming with tears.

"_**Su**__ck __**i**__t __**up**__, __**f**__uc__**kin**__g c__**r**__y__**ba**__b__**y**__. Y__**ou n**__e__**e**__d __**t**__o __**k**__n__**ow wh**__y y__**o**__u l__**o**__s__**t yo**__ur s__**hi**__t __**a**__l__**l o**__ve__**r**__ t__**h**__e __**f**__l__**oo**__r ye__**ste**__r-__**n**__ig__**ht**__.__**"**_

I smeared my tears across my face with my palm and then steadied myself. Samael turned his gaze back to the screen. At an unheard command, the image began to move. A number of ethereal arms rose from the back of the young man. I wanted to look away, I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut and never open them again. I wanted to cover my ears with my hands, or tear them off so that the coming sounds were never heard again. But I didn't do any of those things. I was helpless to watch as the crying boy's vectors began to cut open the baby out of the dead body. The theater filled with the noise of hysterical sobbing and cutting flesh. When the young man finally held the corpse of his baby sister in his arms, the image froze.

A moment passed in silence before I spoke up. "What? What am I supposed to be getting here? You think the moment I cut Theresa out of Mother's womb was my worst crime? What does this have to do with last night?"

Samael leaned over the arm of his chair and shoved his face in my own. _**"Wh**__a__**t y**__ou __**di**__d b__**ac**__k t__**h**__e__**n i**__s w__**or**__s__**e**__ th__**an y**__o__**u**__ t__**h**__i__**nk**__. __**I**__f __**you**__ h__**a**__d__**n'**__t d__**one**__ w__**ha**__t __**yo**__u __**d**__id__**,**__ th__**en**__ y__**o**__u __**wo**__ul__**dn**__'t __**h**__a__**v**__e __**ha**__d a__**n**__y __**p**__r__**o**__b__**lem**__s __**kill**__in__**g t**__ha__**t**__ bi__**tch**__ f__**rom**__ l__**a**__s__**t**__ ni__**gh**__t.__**"**_

I raised my hand and shoved Samael's face away. "I cut my baby sister out of my mother so to see if she had horns. Since she had horns, I knew that our family was attacked because of our mutation. What's so wrong about that?"

"_**Y**__o__**u d**__o__**n'**__t ev__**en u**__n__**d**__e__**r**__s__**ta**__n__**d**__ w__**ha**__t h__**ap**__p__**e**__n__**e**__d __**wh**__en y__**ou**__ d__**id i**__t.__**"**_

He jumped out of his chair and pulled at the bandages around his stomach. Those thin strips of cotton didn't tear, no matter how hard he struggled with them. For the first time, I wondered if there was a reason for those bandages. The number of bandages has been decreasing. What if they served a purpose? What happens when all of the bandages disappear?

Before I could formulate a theory, Samael had thrown himself back in the chair with a bang. He flung one leg over his knee and dropped his head onto his palm. I couldn't understand what was going through his head. It seemed like Samael was waiting for me to say something, so I said "What happened? Just tell me the fucking answer."

The specter of my insanity twisted in his chair to face me. The Boy glared at me as he spoke in his harsh voice. _**"Yo**__u __**b**__r__**ok**__e y__**o**__u__**r br**__a__**i**__n __**a**__t __**t**__h__**at m**__om__**ent**__.__**"**_ He reached his finger over and stabbed it against my forehead._**"Y**__o__**u w**__er__**e**__ a__**l**__r__**ea**__d__**y**__ de__**sta**__b__**il**__iz__**ed b**__y __**t**__h__**e**__ t__**ra**__u__**ma**__ o__**f lo**__s__**in**__g y__**ou**__r __**p**__a__**r**__e__**n**__t__**s**__. T__**he**__n __**yo**__u w__**e**__n__**t an**__d p__**er**__fo__**rme**__d __**s**__u__**rg**__er__**y on**__ yo__**ur**__ d__**e**__a__**d**__ m__**o**__t__**he**__r. __**Yo**__u __**w**__e__**nt**__ a__**n**__d __**cu**__t o__**pen**__ t__**h**__at __**bi**__tc__**h'**__s b__**od**__y __**w**__it__**h**__ y__**o**__u__**r ve**__c__**to**__r__**s."**_ He dragged the fingernail up the middle of my scalp, parting my red hair. _**"**__Y__**o**__u __**mi**__gh__**t a**__s __**we**__ll __**h**__a__**ve**__ p__**ut**__ a __**j**__ac__**kha**__m__**mer**__ t__**o y**__o__**u**__r __**mi**__nd __**an**__d sp__**lit**__ i__**t ap**__a__**r**__t.__** Th**__at'__**s wh**__a__**t**__ y__**ou d**__id __**an**__y__**w**__a__**y**__s__**"**_ He withdrew his digit and wiped it on the arm of his chair.

I brushed my hair as I replied. "Are you saying that I deepened my trauma when I cut my sister out? What does that even mean?"

"_**Wh**__en __**y**__o__**u de**__ep__**en**__e__**d**__ y__**ou**__r __**t**__r__**aum**__a, __**yo**__u s__**et**__ u__**p**__ a __**ha**__i__**r**__-t__**ri**__g__**g**__e__**r**__ bo__**mb**__ i__**n**__ y__**o**__u__**r**__ m__**ind**__. __**T**__h__**a**__t __**b**__o__**mb**__ i__**s tr**__ig__**ger**__ed b__**y**__ s__**p**__e__**c**__i__**fi**__c i__**nt**__e__**n**__t__**ion**__s. __**On**__e o__**f th**__o__**s**__e t__**r**__i__**gg**__er__**s**__ i__**s tr**__yi__**ng**__ t__**o k**__i__**l**__l __**a**__ b__**a**__b__**y**__. A__**no**__t__**h**__e__**r t**__r__**ig**__g__**e**__r i__**s try**__in__**g t**__o __**k**__il__**l a**__ p__**re**__gn__**ant**__ wo__**man**__.__**"**_

I leaned forward in my seat and put my elbows on my knees. I rested my chin on my palms. "So all I have to do is avoid killing pregnant woman and babies? That sounds exactly like what I was trying to do before."

"_**Yo**__u __**m**__ay h__**av**__e __**h**__a__**d**__ a__**n in**__s__**ti**__n__**cti**__v__**e**__ a__**w**__a__**re**__n__**ess**__ o__**f**__ t__**he tr**__i__**g**__g__**er**__s.__**"**_

Hmm… "Any other triggers I should know about before we get started again?"

"_T__**ha**__t'__**s**__ ex__**act**__l__**y t**__h__**e p**__r__**ob**__le__**m**__! __**I do**__n'__**t**__ k__**now**__ w__**h**__a__**t els**__e __**wi**__ll __**t**__r__**i**__g__**ge**__r __**y**__o__**ur**__ a__**tt**__a__**c**__k__**s**__. __**Y**__o__**ur**__ b__**rai**__n __**wa**__s __**c**__r__**ac**__k__**ed**__ b__**e**__f__**or**__e. __**N**__o__**w it**__'s __**a fuck**__in__**g**__ c__**ha**__s__**m**__. __**A**__n__**y**__t__**hin**__g re__**mo**__t__**el**__y __**r**__e__**l**__a__**t**__e__**d t**__o __**t**__h__**e**__ e__**ve**__n__**t is a**__ p__**os**__s__**ibl**__e __**t**__ri__**gge**__r.__**"**_

I leaned back at the same time as Samael leaned forward. "What a fucking mess." I sighed explosively. Then something occurred to me. "Why were you affected?" I said slowly. Samael's reaction was to fixate his burning glare on the gigantic screen before us.

"_**B**__e__**cau**__s__**e**__ I'__**m b**__o__**un**__d __**b**__y __**t**__h__**e**__ sa__**me**__ r__**u**__l__**es**__ a__**s**__ y__**ou a**__r__**e**__.__**"**_

My interest was piqued. "This is the first time I've heard of these 'rules'. What are the rules?"

"_**T**__h__**ey**__'r__**e**__ t__**he**__ f__**u**__c__**k**__in__**g rul**__e__**s**__.__**"**_

"Stop fucking around. Tell me what the rules are."

"_T__**he**__y'__**r**__e __**t**__h__**e**__ r__**ul**__e__**s th**__a__**t**__ w__**e b**__o__**t**__h m__**us**__t __**f**__ol__**low**__ l__**e**__s__**t a**__ r__**e**__p__**e**__a__**t**__ o__**f**__ y__**e**__s__**te**__r-__**nig**__h__**t**__ o__**cc**__u__**rs**__. __**Or s**__o__**me**__t__**h**__i__**ng**__ w__**ors**__e __**m**__i__**g**__ht __**hap**__p__**e**__n.__**"**_

Suddenly it occurred to me that Samael was holding back this entire time. It seemed obvious now that I thought about it. "Why don't I know about these rules?"

My madness let loose a short laugh. _**"I**__n__**sa**__n__**i**__t__**y do**__e__**s**__n'__**t**__ c__**o**__m__**e w**__i__**th**__ a __**ma**__n__**ua**__l.__**"**_

"I suppose I already know two rules. No babies and no pregnant women. But if I stay away from those two, then it should be safe to venture outside?"

"_**Th**__e__**r**__e'__**s n**__o __**g**__u__**a**__r__**an**__t__**ee**__, n__**ot a**__f__**te**__r __**y**__e__**ste**__r-__**n**__i__**g**__h__**t**__. I__**t's**__ n__**o**__t __**l**__i__**ke**__ y__**ou**__ h__**av**__e __**a c**__h__**o**__i__**ce**__ t__**h**__o__**ug**__h. __**Y**__o__**u n**__e__**e**__d t__**o ge**__t __**b**__a__**c**__k o__**ut**__ t__**her**__e __**an**__d __**con**__t__**i**__n__**u**__e o__**ur**__ c__**ycl**__e o__**f m**__a__**ssa**__cr__**e**__. __**No**__a__**h i**__s s__**ti**__l__**l**__ o__**ut**__ t__**h**__e__**re**__. __**He**__ h__**a**__s__**n'**__t __**su**__f__**f**__e__**re**__d __**y**__o__**ur**__ v__**e**__n__**gea**__n__**c**__e __**yet**__.__**"**_

Of course I haven't forgotten about Noah. I didn't even know what he looked like, but I still imagined pressing my thumbs into his eyes and gouging them out. I hated him so much that I shook sometimes. I quaked with antagonism at the mere mention of his name. Just thinking about how he still lived made me angry enough to forget myself. Samael sat back in his chair and smirked.

* * *

My eyes opened and I saw the drab apartment walls. I was lying on my spine with the backpack sitting on my lap. For a moment I panicked, then I found my treasured picture lying on the dirty ground. I put my picture back in the hardened helmet and then zipped the backpack up. I rose to my feet and tossed the black pack into a corner.

I stood at the door hesitantly. There was still the danger of another attack. But now I wasn't alone. Well, in a sense I was still alone. Actually, I was probably about as not-alone as I was going to get. That was a depressing thought if I ever had one.

The door squeaked as I pulled it inward. I stepped out and locked the door behind me with the key. I slipped a vector through the closed door and attached the chain to the door. I was weak from hunger. I needed to eat something to restore my strength.

Just wait for me, Noah. I'll find you and when I do, nothing will stop me from exacting my revenge.

* * *

End Chapter Thirty-Five: Triggers

Originally this was going to be a much larger chapter. But I decided to divide the intended chapter in two. Next chapter will involve Hawker and Raven as the scavenger bird leads the bird of prey away from her target.


End file.
